They, The Rage
by whatthenesmith
Summary: The gang finds themselves in countless tough situations as they try to survive the zombie apocalypse. Follow along as they make new friends, triumph against all odds, and still find a way to keep their instruments despite everything.
1. Chapter 1

There was something in the water. It was only in the tap water. Oceans, streams, and lakes were all unaffected. There was something dangerous in the tap water though. So many people were affected by what was in the water. It was… an illness, as far as anyone could understand. At first, it acted like a normal virus, like the flu, but after awhile it mutated. Mutated to the point in which this virus was unstoppable. In the first few stages of infection, symptoms would present as any other virus, mainly corresponding to flu-like symptoms. This stage would only last for a couple of days to a week, depending on the immune system. Then an extremely high fever would set in, causing delirium and near death. If the infected was lucky enough, the fever would climb high enough to kill. If the infected was unlucky, then stage three would set in. This stage consisted of a hallucinated induced paranoia causing the infected to lash out at everyone and everything around them. There had been something in the water. So many people had been affected by what was in the water.

One Year After the Outbreak

It smelled of rotten meat in the grocery store. Ronda, a well muscled African American woman, leaned against the wall next to the front entrance, a baseball bat held firmly in her grasp, every now and then glancing out the filthy glass doors. In the produce section, a tiny light haired caucasian woman named Heather was picking through vegetables and fruits in an attempt to find something semi-fresh. Finally, in the can aisle, Isaac, a second-generation American whose parents hailed from Pakistan, was throwing as many cans as he could into a bag. Together, Ronda, Heather, and Isaac had been surviving together. This was their routine. Heather and Isaac would gather any food left in the stores they raided and Ronda would stand guard, keeping a watchful eye out for any infected. Ronda ran her hand along the textured wood of the bat she weld in her left hand. If someone had told her how important a bat would become to her, she would have laughed. Baseball was her least favourite sport. But now… she glanced out the front doors again and her heart skipped a beat. There were two distant figures coming towards the store. They darted as a pair from one hiding spot to another.

"Guys, someone's coming," Ronda announced. Isaac, who was the closest, jogged past the cash register and to the front doors. He squinted.

"Think they're infected?" he murmured. Heather joined them, a couple of apples in the crook of her arms.

"I don't want to run anymore," she whimpered. Isaac placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. Isaac was the oldest, at 47. Ronda was 31, leaving Heather the youngest with her age of 19. They had all found each other by chance and had stuck together for much of the same reason.

"It will be alright Heather," assured Isaac.

"I dunno about that. If they're infected, we don't have much of an exit 'sides this front door here," Ronda pointed out, "And their heading right for our exit." Isaac shot Ronda a disapproving look as Heather shook, slowly depositing the apples she held into the bag slung around her shoulder.

"Perhaps they are not infected. They seem to be quite coordinated together," said Isaac. Ronda nodded her head in agreement, although she wasn't convinced. She wasn't one to trust anyone besides Isaac and Heather.

"Let's hide behind the cash registers. Heather will hide with you, Ronda, behind that one," Isaac suggested, pointing towards the second cash registered, the one further away from the front door, "And I'll hide behind this one." Isaac motioned towards the first cash register.

"I should be closest to the door," protested Ronda but the look Isaac gave her diminished the argument quickly. Ronda lead Heather over to the second register, Heather clambering as far underneath the register as she could. Isaac crouched down behind the first one, peeking over the top to watch the door. The silence was suffocating to Heather. She wanted something to happen. Either the people come inside and get whatever was going to happen over with, or she wanted the people to divert in another direction so that she and the others could collect a bit more food. She hugged her knees. Two minutes passed and then there was the sound of the door opening. Isaac saw a curly haired youth poke his head inside. He glanced around and Isaac ducked his head down a little to prevent detection.

"It's all clear I think, Davy," the curly haired young man said, stepping into the store and holding the door open for a smaller youth.

"I dunno mate, I coulda sworn I saw something looking out the front door. I'm not kidding Micky," the smaller man, Davy, murmured. Coherent speech was not something an infected could accomplish, and, as Isaac peeked above the register again, both of the young men were armed. Nothing an infected would do, and early stagers were something rare to find out and about.

"I believe that would have been us," Isaac announced, straightening himself up, hands held up with his palm open wide. Both young men screamed a little, whirling to face Isaac, weapons readied. Behind him, Ronda moved around the register, tense and ready to defend Isaac from the two newcomers. Heather stood up as well, looking like a frightened deer in large headlights.

"Who in your right minds are you?" Micky squawked.

"It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you. I'm Isaac," Isaac said gently, waving a hand at Ronda to signal her to lower her bat. Ronda reluctantly did so.

"Hi Isaac," Micky waved his hand slightly. Davy elbowed Micky in the side, giving him a warning glare. Isaac moved slowly out from behind the cash register, keeping his palms facing towards the two young men.

"Behind me are my friends Ronda and Heather. We're not infected. You can look us over however you like, within reason," Isaac said, continuing to keep his voice as soothing as possible. He had handled distressed mothers, panicking fathers, absolutely terror driven children, and so on when he had been in the ER as a trauma doctor. To top this off, after his stint in the ER, Isaac had been a therapist. So there had been a lot he had learned through his time in the medical field. But… now he was here. Micky and Davy exchanged looks.

"Hi Isaac," Micky repeated, turning back to face the the trio, "Hello Ronda, hiya Heather." Micky flashed Heather a friendly smile and a wave. Rondo noticed how Heather's muscles relaxed slightly and she smiled back at Micky. It hadn't occurred to Rondo before just exactly how young Heather was. In comparison to the ages of herself and Isaac, Heather was probably closer in age to these two young men.

"You guys ain't infected, are ya?" Ronda spoke finally, staring coldly at Micky and Davy.

"No! Do we look infected to you?" Micky squeaked defensively.

"So none of us are infected, that's a good thing to know," Davy shrugged, then he continued, "I'm Davy, this is my friend Micky." Davy gestured to Micky.

"Hi Micky," Heather called out. Micky gave Heather another friendly smile.

"Do you live around here?" Isaac asked. Micky nodded, answering, "Yeah we live a couple of roads down. We've been needing to travel a bit further out for supplies, so we've been coming here for a couple of days now."

"Is it just you two?" blurted Heather, wondering something similar to what Ronda had been thinking. She had grown to love both Ronda and Isaac, they had become a family in a sense, but an only child yearned for friends of their own age.

"No, there's four of us. Me, Micky, and our friends Mike and Peter," Davy explained. Heather's face lite up at that response.

"Are any of them infected?" Isaac inquired, trying to sound more concerned for the stranger's party than his own. With a question like that, one had to tread carefully.

"No, we're all healthy as can be expected these days," Micky said flatly, the first time the curly haired young man had seemed dead serious. For a moment Isaac saw before him a broken early twenty-something. The moment was brief. Davy tapped Micky on the shoulder and the taller leaned down. Davy whispered something into Micky's ear. Micky responded in a likewise fashion. This was repeated twice until the two faced Isaac, Ronda, and Heather once more.

"If you want to finish up restocking your supplies while we get our stuff, you can come back to our place. It's big enough and protected and you guys can take a bath," Davy offered, not wanting to seem rude. Plus none of them had seen other, healthy people for so long.

"The water's not from the faucet either, just FYI. It's cleaned. And if it's clear down on the beach, we could even go swimming," Micky added. Heather ran out from behind the cash registered and grabbed onto Isaac's arm.

"Can we Isaac? Please?" she nearly begged. Isaac glanced back at Ronda. The woman was shaking her head. But they did need a rest. They hadn't had a proper rest in so long. The infected were everywhere, and unless one had a secure place to stay, there was no rest to be found.

"We'd be grateful to accompany you back," Isaac finally answered. Ronda went to Isaac's side.

"How can we know these people are trustworthy?" Ronda hissed, glaring daggers at Davy and Micky.

"They haven't tried to kill us. They aren't infected. And I don't think Heather can keep going if she doesn't get a full eight hours of sleep soon," Isaac explained. Ronda wanted to argue but there wasn't an argument in that statement. Placing a hand onto Ronda's shoulder, Isaac added, "We'll be careful, cautious. We always are, especially thanks to your watchful eye." Ronda pulled away from Isaac, but nodded her head in agreement.

"Hand me the bag, I'll go gather the rest of what we need," Ronda instructed. Isaac smiled and handed over the bag slung across his shoulder. Ronda disappeared into the nearest aisle.

"Hey man, I'll get the stuff okay," Micky announced after seeing that the others were going to finish their gathering. He was mainly speaking to Davy. Davy nodded and Micky bounded over to an overturned shopping cart. He uprighted it and began wheeling it away. Isaac and Heather inched a little toward their new acquaintance.

"So... was it cool living in Cali before all this stuff happened?" Heather asked. Davy thought about the question for a bit.

"It was pretty interesting. My friends and I came here looking for our big break, but we mainly ended up barely broke," he replied after a moment, "Still, it was a lot of fun." A pained expression crossed Davy's face.

"What were you trying to make it big in?" Isaac asked, in an attempt to change the subject matter.

"Music. We're a band. Were a band… I'm not really sure what we are now. We're the Monkees, anyways," Davy answered. So Isaac's plan hadn't fully worked out.

"A band? I've always wanted to meet a band. I used to live in Ohio, which was so boring. I hated it there so much," Heather gushed.

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as this," chuckled Davy. Heather gave a shrug of her shoulders, although she didn't protest. Meanwhile Micky was busy loading up the cart. He bumped into Ronda in the back, who was inspecting a box of cookies. Ronda looked over Micky with a skeptical eye upon noticing his arrival.

"And how do you expect to get all that home? Are you taking the cart?" she asked. Micky regarded her with an equal amount of suspicion.

"Davy and I got some bags for this stuff," he replied. He leaned past her and grabbed a couple of packets of cookies, dropping them into the cart. It didn't take long for Ronda to finish filling up Isaac's bag nor Micky filling up his cart. The two returned to the front. Davy and Micky began putting the items within the cart into a couple of bags they had on their persons.

"Can I help?" Heather asked.

"Sure," Micky beamed. Heather grinned and took the bag Davy offered her.

"We can help you carry your load," Isaac offered. Ronda held tightly to her bat with one hand, holding Isaac's food satchel in the other. She didn't trust these men. She didn't trust their friends. She only trusted Isaac and Heather, and would do very little to help these acquaintances.

"That would be great, thank you," Davy said to Isaac. Once everything was sorted out, the two groups headed outside. It was quiet. The only noises to be heard were that of birds. It gave Micky shivers every time he left the pad. Everything used to be so loud and exciting… now it was just quiet. They walked in relative ease, Davy assuring Isaac, Heather, and Ronda that infected were hardly encountered around here as long as very little noise was made. That didn't mean the little band wasn't on guard. Silence enveloped them as they walked. Heather noticed that a lot of the stores and homes they passed had been ransacked long ago. It was surprising that the grocery they had just been in had all that it had. Two blocks later, Davy and Micky veered off the road and lead the trio up a steep road that could have been considered either a private road or a long driveway, depending on how one looked at it. The road lead them to a house. A colourful car was parked in the driveway, although it too seemed to be a bit battered despite it's overall appearance.

"This is it," Micky exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows at Heather before bounding over to the front door. He knocked, or rather kicked, five times and then the door swung inwards.

"Hey Peter, come out here for a sec," Micky said to the young man that had opened the door. Peter opened the door a bit more and stepped in front of it. A frown creased his brow, but the look of confusion on his face was quickly replaced with one of fright as he spied Heather, Isaac, and Ronda.

"It's okay Peter, this is Isaac, Heather, and Ronda. They're very nice," Davy explained. Peter seemed rooted to the spot, unable to keep himself from staring.

"They aren't infected and we decided it'd be nice to know how it is out there," Micky added.

"We're very grateful for this and we will happily do something in return for this," Isaac said to Peter, stepping forward a little.

"No it's okay, hi I'm Peter, sorry I didn't mean to stare or anything, sorry," Peter gushed suddenly, coming alive and retreating back a bit into the home so that Davy and Micky could make their way to the kitchen to put away the supplies, "It's just that I'm not sure how Mike will like this."

"Mike will like this just fine Peter," Micky reassured his friend as he entered the home.

"Who's Mike?" Heather wondered aloud.

"He's honestly really nice but he can come off pretty strongly," Peter answered, ushering Isaac, Ronda, and Heather inside.

"Ronda and him might get along well then," Isaac joked gently. Ronda shot him a disapproving look.

"I'll like what just fine Mick?" came a voice with a strange accent. Ronda and Isaac both identified it as Southern although Heather thought cowboy, and in her defense she hadn't had much experience with accents besides those in the Northeast.

"Okay man, don't freak out or anything-," Micky began, dumping the bags in his arms onto the kitchen table, "But we invited these guys to come and crash here." Mike came in from the porch and glanced at the three newcomers. Isaac put the bag he had offered to carry for Micky and Davy onto the floor next to him. Carefully stepping over this, he went over to Mike.

"Hello, I'm Isaac. My friends are Ronda and Heather. We are all very healthy and if you would like, you may inspect us to an extent," Isaac greeted, holding out his hand towards Mike, "And I understand that you have your own unit and that we are foreign to this unit. We will understand if you don't want us to stay." Mike took Isaac's hand and shook it.

"But Isaac, I wanna stay!" protested Heather. Isaac shot her a warning look. He didn't want to get kicked out on the streets, not when they were so close to being able to get a decent night's rest, but he still didn't want to impose upon their newfound friends. If Heather pushed, it could jeopardize what Isaac wished to accomplish.

"Hi there Isaac. I'm Mike," Michael responded, breaking the handshake. He smiled warmly at Isaac, then Heather and Ronda, before continuing, "And I don't see why y'all can't stay, at least for the night, considering how my friends already gave you the go-ahead."

"It really wouldn't be much of a trouble-," Isaac started but Mike shook his head.

"Nah, it's alright," Mike assured Isaac. Isaac bowed his head to Michael.

"Thank you very much. My friends and I are extremely grateful for this hospitality," he thanked Michael.

"So, now that's out of the way, how about I show them the bedrooms or something?" Davy asked, clapping his hands together. Although he had seemed very genuine with Isaac and had pulled out that old Nesmith charm, Davy could sense how pissed Mike was, at least towards Micky. He couldn't get a read on what sort of hot water he was in himself.

"Yeah, yeah," Michael nodded his head, "They can stay in the upstairs bedroom. We'll bunk down in your's and Pete's bedroom for now."

"Hey but that's-," Micky started to protest but the look Mike shot him shut him up real quick. Isaac noticed the tension. He hoped that this wouldn't cause too much trouble, that was the last thing he wanted, but he also needed to keep Heather in mind. The last time they had all gotten a full eight hours of sleep was four months ago, in Washington.

"Okay. I can show you guys upstairs," Davy grinned. Heather cheered and followed Davy as eager as a puppy.

"Thank you again," Isaac said to Mike who merely nodded again. Isaac followed Heather, leaving Ronda to size up Mike. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Ronda went up the stairs along with Isaac and the others. Out of the four young men, Ronda decided the only trustworthy one was Mike. He seemed to be the leader, the capable one. Ronda respected that. No lies, no half-truths, just straightforward leadership. With the newcomers gone, Michael turned to Micky, who had busied himself in tucking away the supplies into their correct places. Peter was helping.

"The hell did you think you were doin' Mick?" Michael demanded, walking over to the kitchen.

"Dunno what you mean, hey Peter you mind putting this box with the soup?" Micky shrugged, doing his best to avoid Mike. Peter took the box and looked at it.

"These are crackers though," he pointed out. Micky leaned over and tapped on the front of the box.

"Yeah but soup crackers," Micky countered. Peter stared at the label for a moment before shrugging and putting it in the cabinet that they kept the soup in.

"Micky, you better turn around right now and talk to me," Mike said. Micky cringed at the tone of Mike's voice. Putting down the boxes he was putting into a cabinet, he turned around slowly.

"Look man, you saw them. They seemed really tired and I felt bad for them. They said they weren't infected," Micky explained, "We don't know how bad it is out there. We holed ourselves in here."

"Okay, I get that, but we can't comprise what we've got. You're right Micky, we don't know how bad it is out there and I'll be damned if I let any of us know any time soon. For now, Peter'll go with Davy on runs and you'll go with me," Michael said at length.

"What? That's not fair!" protested Micky.

"It's fair if I say so, you coulda gotten both of you killed," Mike pointed out.

"Yeah, but I didn't," mumbled Micky, but he wasn't going to push it. Ever since the illness had ruined everything, Mike had been overbearing and overprotective. At first, it was comforting, something to rely on in such troubled times. But now, sometimes Micky felt Mike's protectiveness stemmed not just from his personality but also from paranoia and fear. Of course, it wasn't just Mike. They all had taken things in their own ways. Micky wasn't sure how he had taken it. Sort of ignored it, he supposed, and had gone on the protective front with Mike. Peter got real quiet. For the first month or so he refused to speak, it had had them all extremely worried. Davy had cried a lot, but he cried less now. Micky hadn't seen that one coming. So Mike switching up the supply run roster was an easy let off and Micky wasn't about to try and make things worse. After a couple of minutes, Davy returned to the living room area with Heather, Isaac, and Ronda.

"Alright, so how about we get a proper introduction?" Mike suggested, walking away from the kitchen.

"You guys have met me and Micky, and I guess Mike too, and that's Peter," Davy said, pointing to Peter who had just finished putting away the last box. Peter gave a little wave.

"Hello all," Isaac smiled.

"Hey, um… Micky right?" Heather started.

"Yeah that's me!" Micky beamed.

"Can we see if the beach is clear and we can go swimming?" Heather finished. Isaac nudged her with his elbow.

"Don't impose Heather," he warned.

"Oh it's not a problem. We go down there often, man," Micky shrugged, bounding over to Heather, "Let's go out on the porch and see what's happening." As they headed towards the doorway to the porch, Mike called after them, "Unless somethin's changed, it should be clear."

"Thanks Mike," Micky called over his shoulder. He and Heather went out onto the porch.

"Peter, you wanna go down with them? I'll go with ya," Davy inquired.

"No thank you Davy," Peter said with a half smile. He gave Mike a hug, then Davy a hug, before going into the downstairs bedroom.

"Ya wanna sit down?" Mike asked, motioning to one of the various chairs in the room.

"Thank you," Isaac nodded his head and sat down in the nearest chair. Ronda remained standing, her baseball bat still in her grasp.

"I think I'm going to make tea," announced Davy. Mike made a face but Davy ignored it. Mike and Micky didn't like tea. Mike had good reasons, but Micky always protested that it tasted like disgusting leaf water. This made no sense to Davy, considering that coffee (something Micky loved) was the same exact thing expect you'd replace leaf with bean. This was something Davy often pointed out to his comrade.

"That would be lovely, thank you so much," Isaac gushed. He wished Ronda would sit down. Here they were, in these lovely people's home, and she was ready for a fight.

"It's no trouble. No one but Peter appreciates my tea around here anyways," Davy grinned and made his way to the kitchen. Mike rolled his eyes at that comment.

"So, how did you guys get here?" Mike asked, wanting to get the awkwardness of first encounters out of the way as soon as possible. It was silly of course. These people would be moving on soon, they couldn't stay forever, that would be too many people to take care of. But… Mike knew deep down, no matter how much sense it made to kick these people out, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to such an action.

"Well… I personally was visiting family up in Wyoming when the outbreak happened. I was called on duty a lot until I realized there was no curing this illness… I used to be an ER doctor you see," Isaac explained, "I met Heather on a train, about two months into all of this. I think she was being sent up to Washington to live with relatives after her parents died."

"That's horrible," Mike commented. Isaac nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah… I feel bad for her. The train derailed somewhere in Oregon. That's where we met Ronda. At first we were trying to get up into Washington to see if Heather's relatives were still… alive, but it got too dangerous. So we made our way down the coast," he finished. Mike held his question while Davy handed Isaac a mug and offered one to Ronda. At first, the older woman seemed as if she would refuse but Ronda eventually accepted the cup with a mutter 'thank you'. Davy sat down next to Mike on the lounge chair.

"How is it out there?" Michael asked finally. He was glad Micky wasn't here. If he had been, he would have demanded to know everything the newcomers knew about how the outside world was fairing.

"It's… something. Like one of those terrible horror movies. I never liked horror movies," Isaac answered, pausing to take a sip of his tea, "This is wonderful tea, thank you Davy. Anyways, if you'd have asked me a few months back, maybe three or four back, I'd have said it was bad. But the infected seem to be dying off. There are so few survivors… at least you don't meet many of them. You're the first living, healthy people we've met."

"Really? There… we're the first?" Davy gasped, a frightening feeling twisting his stomach.

"Yes. There is not much to do to escape this illness," Ronda spoke for the first time. Davy's eyes went wide and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Wow I didn't know… I didn't know it was that bad," he muttered, his voice cracking a bit. Isaac noticed the slight tremor that shook Davy's hands.

"It isn't all bad. I noticed that the wildlife don't seem to be infected, which is a bonus. And it seems that maybe we're nearing the end of this epidemic," he said in an attempt to indirectly reassure Davy.

"That's good. That's all we should hope for," Mike nodded his head, noticing and appreciating Isaac's attempt.

"Only fools hope," spat Ronda. Isaac shot her a glare. He knew she didn't like this, but that didn't mean she had any right to be rude.

"A good philosophy to me," Mike commented. He didn't seem bothered by what Ronda had said.

"So I heard from… umm… Micky that you four were a band?" Isaac inquired, searching for a new topic.

"Yeah, that's right," Davy confirmed.

"What instruments do you play?" Isaac asked.

"Well we all sort of take turns singing, it all just depends. Micky plays drums and I play the maracas… sometimes the tambourine," Davy replied.

"And I play guitar, Pete's bass," added Mike.

"That's wonderful. My brother, Jacob, he used to be in a band, although they were terrible," chuckled Isaac.

"What kind of music did they play?" Davy questioned.

"They all sort of played their instruments individually and one of them screamed into the microphone and they called that music," replied Isaac.

"Sounds awful," Mike agreed.

"Certainly was," Isaac laughed. There was a lull of silence before Mike asked, "So either of you know anything about cooking?"

"I do," Ronda said.

"Would it make ya feel more at home if we let ya cook dinner tonight?" Mike asked her. Ronda took a moment to seriously think about this. At this point, they couldn't leave. And as far as she could tell, these people seemed alright. And Mike had gained, in some sense, her trust. She could sense that perhaps her values and his values would turn out to be quite similar.

"Yes, it would, thank you," she finally answered. Isaac was happy that Ronda was starting to warm up a little.

"That's great! To tell you a secret, none of us really know how to cook decently, although with these circumstances, we haven't complained much," Davy grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

A little bit later, Davy left the pad to go see what Heather and Micky were up to down at the beach while Mike showed Isaac and Ronda how the kitchen was organized. Walking down to the beach Davy spotted Heather a foot or so out from shore. She was swimming around in her undergarments, enjoying something she thought she'd never get to do again. Micky was laying on his back in the sand. As Davy drew closer, Micky appeared to be asleep. His eyes were closed,

"Hey, you're not sleeping are you?" Davy asked, plopping down next to Micky.

"I wish," muttered Micky as he opened his eyes and sat up.

"How are you sleeping, by the way?" Davy wondered. Micky gave him a look.

"You and I sleep just fine most nights. It's Peter and Mike who have the trouble," Micky corrected. Davy shrugged his shoulders.

"We all have trouble sleeping," he admitted, "All for one, and one for all, remember." Micky nodded his head. The two watched as Heather went under a wave and popped out the other side.

"Think we made the right call on bringing them here?" Micky asked. He had been chewing on what Mike had told him earlier. Davy contemplated the question.

"I think… I think we did. We've fallen into a routine and, at least I think so, I think that a change is just what we need right now," Davy answered. A frown creased Micky's brow.

"Routines aren't bad," he pointed out, "Our routine has worked, why change it up?"

"No one can live doing the same thing everyday Micky. They'd go insane. A human brain wasn't structured for that," Davy argued. Thinking about it, Micky could find no argument with that. Again, there was a lull of silence, the only thing to be heard being that of the waves crashing against the shore and Heather's laughter.

"Ronda, that silent woman, she and Isaac said that things seem to be getting better," Davy informed Micky.

"Getting better where?" questioned Micky.

"I dunno. Out there, I guess," Davy shrugged, waving an arm in a semicircle as a gesture meaning the world, "But Isaac said that we were the first survivors they've met." Davy moved sand around with his foot (he'd came down barefoot).

"What does that mean? They haven't met anyone 'sides us?" Micky frowned.

"I guess…," Davy trailed off.

"What's wrong?" Micky asked. Davy nudged one of his feet underneath some sand.

"What if we're some of the only people left alive Micky? What if you, me, Mike, Peter, and these new folks are the only people left alive on Earth? I… and what about England? I never was able to get through to my family there, you know. What if everyone's gone Micky?" Davy blurted. He sounded on the verge of tears. He hadn't meant for all that to come out in one go. Micky placed a hand onto Davy's back. For a moment, it seemed as if Micky was going to pat Davy but he began rubbing his palm along Davy's spine instead.

"Look man, that's real heavy, ya know," Micky began, rubbing circles into Davy's back, "Now, I dunno what's happening out there. I don't think anyone knows. But I can say for sure that we aren't the only ones out there. I feel it in my gut, we aren't. Just keep on trying to hold it together. That's all we gotta do. You, me, Mike, and Pete, we all just gotta keep on holding it together, and I think if we do that long enough, we'll all get out of this together." Davy swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, wiping away the few tears that had escaped during Micky's consolation with the back of his hands.

"Yeah, I think so too… thanks Micky," Davy gave Micky a tight squeeze. Before Micky could say anything in response, though, Heather came splashing out of the ocean.

"Hey, you guys said you had a bath or something right?" she asked, wringing water out of her hair as she did so. Micky glanced at Davy, to double check that he was alright now, before jumping to his feet.

"Yeah, it's real neat," he confirmed. Davy clambered to his feet as well.

"Micky's very handy you know. He's rigged up a lot of interesting things around here," commented Davy.

"Wow, you guys are really cool," grinned Heather.

"Well, you're pretty groovy too," Micky answered. Heather blushed and hid her face.

"Oh c'mon Micky, let's get back up. Remember we can't stay on the beach at night," Davy rolled his eyes, giving Micky a shove. Micky shoved him back and then took off.

"Do you wanna help me tackle him?" Davy asked Heather. The girl was only a little shorter than Davy and he reasoned that the two of them could bring Micky down. Heather looked a bit confused.

"What?" she asked. Davy gave her a wide grin, grabbed her hand, and they took off after Micky. They did catch up to Micky but no one was tackled. The trio walked up the stairs, back up to the pad. Ronda was in the kitchen, using a mere handful of the supplies (a mix of both their own and the guys') to make dinner. Mike and Isaac were talking in a corner. Heather didn't notice the curious looks that passed between the two men, but Micky noticed. He wondered what exactly they were talking about.

"Mike, sorry to interrupt, but Heather wanted to know if she could take a bath?" Davy asked. Mike glanced or to them.

"Sure, the bathroom's right behind you," he answered.

"Thank you!" Heather chirped and then went upstairs to get a change of clothing. Micky slunk down onto the lounge chair, sprawling out. Davy picked up Micky's left leg and moved it over so that he could sit down next to Micky. A few more hushed words were exchanged between Isaac and Mike before they dispersed.

"How was the water?" Isaac asked Micky.

"It's always great, although sometimes it gets a bit too cold," Micky shrugged.

"You all have a very nice place here," Isaac commented. Mike sat down on a chair and pointed out a free one for Isaac to sit down in.

"Thanks man," Micky grinned, sitting up, "Heather's real sweet."

"She can be… a handful sometimes. Irritating, but I'm glad you think she's sweet. She's very young and I don't think she fully understands the implications of what is happening around here," Isaac sighed.

"Well hey, we're all cool here. Everyone deals with this stuff differently," Micky pointed out. Davy gave him a nudge with his shoulder.

"Plus, it isn't like we all have stellar personalities," he added. Micky gave Davy a look that said "wow rude, I have the best personality ever" but no words were exchanged.

"It's good to see such spirit here," laughed Isaac.

"And we got a lot of it," puffed Mike, glad to see that some good was already coming out of this sudden arrangement. Micky and Davy seemed to be having some fun, they were getting what Mike hoped was an excellent meal (even with their meager supplies, anything would be better than lukewarm soup again), and Mike had to admit that Isaac was interesting to talk to. He felt bad about getting angry with Micky earlier. Even though it had been a risky move, Micky was only trying to do what he thought was right and that's all anyone could do these days. A little while later, Heather came out of the bathroom.

"I forgot how good it feels to take a bath!" she exclaimed.

"You can thank Micky for that," grinned Davy. Heather did indeed and then the conversation bounced around from one topic to the other. These topics didn't consist of much though, just unimportant questions and a few stories that Davy wormed into said questions.

"The dinner is finished," Ronda announced after a couple of minutes. Micky jumped to his feet and cheered.

"Come on, man," Davy rolled his eyes. Mike shook his head at the both of them, a smile playing on his face.

"Woo! I'm with Micky!" Heather smiled.

"I think we should get to the table," Isaac pointed out.

"Yeah man, I'll grab some more chairs," Davy said. Micky helped him bring over extra chairs so that everyone was able to sit down at the table comfortably enough. Ronda brought over what she had made. It was stew.

"This smells great!" Heather chirped.

"Apologies if I used more than I should have," Ronda said to Mike as she ladled out stew for everyone.

"Nah, it's fine. I think we're all too hungry to care too much," Mike assured her.

"It's very kind of you to do this, thank you," Isaac said. Davy, after getting enough chairs for everyone with the help of Micky, had gone to get Peter (who was still in the downstairs bedroom) and now returned with the taller blonde.

"Wow man, this is something good," Micky complimented Ronda. He was already eating, which wasn't a surprise. Ronda thanked him. Peter sat down between Davy and Mike, and then everyone else began to eat as well. Isaac asked about supply runs and the usual chores. Mike and Davy answered these questions, with Micky chiming in on occasion when he could bring himself to talk. Heather chatted amiably, hands going this way and that. Mike made the comment that Heather spoke like Micky, with her hands.

"I don't always talk with my hands," Micky pouted, but there wasn't any heart behind it because he knew Mike was kidding around.

"I do," Heather said, almost proudly, "You can ask Isaac. I'm always throwing my hands around. I just don't know what to do with them."

"You could always put them in your pockets," Davy suggested. Heather shrugged her shoulders and waggled her fingers at him. Isaac gave Heather a warning look. Nothing too unfriendly of course, he just wanted to make sure she did not cross any boundaries.

"You should come down to the beach tomorrow, Isaac, it's a lot of fun," said Heather, changing the topic.

"We could all go down, if it's all clear," agreed Davy.

"After rounds then," Mike smiled. It was good to see that Davy and Micky were getting along well with the newcomers. He hoped that maybe his change would get Peter out of his funk… speaking of Peter, Mike leaned over and whispered into Peter's ear, "Hey man, this is some good eats, right?" Peter, who hadn't eaten very much of his bowl of stew, glanced up and nodded his head. He gave Mike a thin smile.

"It's very good Mike," Peter agreed.

"Then try to eat all of it," Mike suggested. All three of the guys had noticed a while back that when it came to food and rations, Peter would eat half (sometimes even a third) of his share and then give what was left to one of them. Ronda ignored the exchange, Heather barely seemed to notice, but Isaac did. He had kept a close eye on the mental and physical state of his little group. Heather had posed the most trouble in the beginning but he had managed to keep her in better spirits. Now faced with four new people, Isaac couldn't help but try and evaluate their states, both mentally and physically. He hadn't gathered much though, but he could clearly see the concern on Michael's face.

"Alright Mike, I will," Peter assured. Mike patted him on the back. The conversation flowed from mundane talk then to more technical things like rounds. Everyday, at 9:00 AM, 12:00 PM, and 6:00 PM there was to be rounds. Two of the guys (four people equaled a constant buddy system) would walk around the house and see what was happening. Supply runs happened on Saturdays or Sundays, and consisted of a buddy system a well. Mike said that Ronda and Isaac could both accompany himself and Micky on tomorrow morning's round. By the time that was explained, mostly everyone at the table had finished.

"I can do the washing up… if you do the washing up," Heather offered.

"Sure, I'll show you how," Micky grinned. They collected the plates, all except Peter and Ronda's. Micky and Heather both found it odd that Ronda said she wasn't finished though, because her bowl was empty. So they went over to the sink and Micky showed Heather how to do the washing up.

"Micky, do you want to play one of the board games?" Davy asked as he wandered into the living room area.

"Oh can we?" Heather exclaimed, looking at Micky.

"Yeah, sure. What'd ya say Mike?" Micky grinned.

"Sure, sounds like a good plan," Mike agreed. Micky gave a whoop of excitement.

"Let's hurry up with these," he whispered to Heather who nodded her head vigorously. Then they began to speed up their washing process.

"Ronda, do you want to join?" Isaac inquired.

"I think I will finish my food here with," she paused a moment to remember Peter's name, "Peter and then I think both of us will join." Peter glanced up at the mention of his name.

"You don't have to do that," Peter said immediately. But Ronda shook her head and answered with, "It's no trouble. I still have to finish eating as well." Mike mouthed the words 'thank you' to Ronda who simply bowed her head slightly in return. Isaac was glad that Ronda definitely seemed to be warming up to their newfound friends. The game commenced shortly after Micky and Heather had finished up the dishes. Fifeteen minutes later, Peter and Ronda joined in, although neither of them said or did much. Still, it was an overall fun time. Heather was more than overjoyed to do anything that made her feel like a normal kid again. And Mike enjoyed watching his two friends seem to be getting back into their old selves. The game was won by Isaac, who gave the title to Micky (who had come in second place), but then Micky gave the title to Heather and Davy eventually had to suggest that they just share the title. Once the game was over, it was time for bed. Isaac, Ronda, and Heather headed upstairs after bidding goodnight to their kind hosts.

"You seem to like these guys, Heather," Isaac commented as he clambered into the bed closest to the door. Ronda and Heather were already settled into the opposite bed.

"I like them a lot. Micky's funny and Davy's really sweet. Mike seems… okay I guess, kinda like you Isaac, all business and no fun," Heather responded. Ronda smiled at the comment.

"Isaac is all business and no fun? Then what am I?" she asked in a teasing manner. Heather gave Ronda a tight squeeze.

"You're more fun than Isaac. He's stuffy and boring," she giggled.

"You will never cease to amaze me," chuckled Isaac, climbing underneath the covers.

"I think Peter's cool too, but I didn't see much of him today. I wonder what his problem is," concluded Heather.

"We do not know what these people have been through Heather," Isaac pointed out.

"Everyone's gone through horrors. Some day, perhaps, they might tell you their stories, but for now you must be grateful for their kindness," Ronda agreed.

"So you don't think this was a bad idea, do you, Ronda?" Isaac prompted, hoping that Ronda really had had a change of heart.

"I must admit Isaac… this was not a bad idea," Ronda confirmed. Isaac smiled to himself.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, pausing to sit up slightly, "Can I turn the light off?" Ronda and Heather said 'yes' in unison and then Isaac turned off the bedside lamp.

Meanwhile, downstairs, the guys were still getting settled.

"Peter, why don't you sleep with-," Mike was beginning to say when Davy cut him off, quite firmly.

"Peter is going to sleep with me, in my bed. You, Mike, need to try to get some actual proper rest, so you'll sleep with Micky in Peter's bed," he informed Mike, who didn't seem pleased with this arrangement. Micky and Davy had decided this in secret, when they had been leading Ronda, Heather, and Isaac back to the pad. Although they had all dealt with terrifying nightmares that would be expected from such an experience, Davy, Micky, and Mike had all seemed to mellow out (dreamwise, of course). But Peter continued to experience them. Sometimes, he would scream or call out in his sleep, other times he would cry. What it was Peter dreamt about was a mystery, because he refused to speak about them. Usually, since he and Davy slept in the same room, Davy would be the one to wake Peter up. However, Davy had noticed that Mike had taken to getting only a handful of hours (2-4) of sleep and then being awake around the time when Peter began voicing his discomfort.

"You aren't serious are ya? I get enough sleep man, I'm fine," Mike protested but Micky pulled him onto Davy's bed. He had already crawled under the covers, beat after the excitement of the day.

"Don't fight it Mike, me and Davy decided this so long ago, it's history," Micky joked.

"They're right you know, Mike," Peter agreed. Mike gave Peter a sympathetic look. Micky and Davy, he had no problem arguing with, but these days especially Mike found it hard to argue with Peter.

"Oh fine, y'all win," Mike grumbled, laying back down onto the mattress.

"Woo, I'm glad we have gained this victory, now Davy turn off the lights," Micky yawned. Peter climbed into Davy's bed as Davy clicked off the lights before settling in next to Peter. The four exchanged their usual good night's, each saying goodnight to the other, and then they went to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Gregory Halson sat in front of the radio, his head resting against the cool metal desktop. They hadn't heard anything from Doctor Amèlie Rose, a scientist up in Canada, in days. Julia that morning had nearly thrown her coffee mug on the floor in desperation. What had happened to Dr. Rose? Was she still alive? Gregory's eyelids began to droop, feeling as heavy as lead. Then there was a loud crackle, the sound of the radio coming to life, and through the static he could hear a voice.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Greg? Freddy?" Dr. Rose asked, her voice fading in and out. Gregory bolted upright and grabbed the speaker, pressing the button on the side so that he could speak.

"Dr. Rose? It's me, Greg, are you okay?" Greg exclaimed.

"I'm fine, I haven't been able to get to the radio, I have something important," Dr. Rose said, her voice fading out slightly at the end, but then her voice came back, "There has been a spike in infected. The survivor camp in Toronto, it's gone. The disease spread there, everyone's gone. And I believe the lack of survivors here are driving the infected south."

"The Toronto camp's gone?" Greg repeated, his eyes growing wide. He never thought Toronto would fall. A sickening feeling churned in his stomach.

"Yes, there wasn't anything I could do. Have you gotten in touch with Dr. Wilkins?" Dr. Rose questioned.

"Dr. Wilkins is making her way to California, at least that's what Julia reported last time we talked," Greg answered.

"Have you seen any increase in infected activity?" Dr. Rose pressed.

"I… yes, admittedly, I believe so, yes," Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Dr. Wilkins better know what she's doing with this cure," Dr. Rose spat, the bitterness in her voice clear as a bell. It had been ages since Dr. Rose had talked about "the cure" aloud. To her, it was a fools errand, something that was impossible. At this rate, it'd take a miracle for enough of the human population to survive without a cure, let alone expanding the manpower to find a cure in the first place. It had been attempted before, to no avail. What Dr. Wilkins thinking, Dr. Rose would never know. The woman needed a miracle.

"Dr. Wilkins assures me that she has this covered," Greg said, trailing off at the end. There was a beat of silence. Then Dr. Rose said, "Alright, I'll check back in when I can. Stay strong, Gregory." Then the line went dead.

Gregory put down the radio handpiece and leaned back in his chair. He shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Then, he stood up, pushing his chair in as he did so, and then exited the tiny closet. Freddy and Julia were sat on the couch. Julia was leafing through a book and Freddy seemed to be asleep.

"Alright, Dr. Rose just called in," Greg cleared his throat. Julia threw the book down onto the coffee table in front of the couch before elbowing Freddy awake.

"What'd she say?" Julia asked.

"She was upset to hear that Dr. Wilkins is still on her search for a means of a cure. And she also said she believes that the infected up in the North are making their way to the South," Greg reported.

"Damn," Julia swore, "Why doesn't she see the sense in what the doc's trying to do?"

"Dr. Rose said it was pointless," shrugged Greg, unsure what Julia expected him to say.

"I think the more pressing matter is that bit with the infected in it," Freddy pointed out. Julia ran a hand through her hair, but she agreed.

"Better get the word out as quickly as possible, especially to the doc," Julia sighed.

The night had passed with only one incident (Peter had kicked at Davy in his sleep thinking he was an infected) but overall, everyone had gotten enough sleep. When Davy woke, he found Micky missing from bed. Mike however was still fast asleep, which was nothing short than a miracle. Peter too was absent from the bed and so Davy decided it was time he got up and saw what the others were up too. He got dressed as quickly and quietly as he could, so as to not disturbed Michael's slumber. Then he slipped out of the room. There didn't appear to be anyone in the pad when Davy exited his room, but a moment later he heard Micky's voice coming from the porch. Davy wandered outside to find Isaac and Micky sitting on two of the three chairs that were out there.

"Good morning Isaac, good morning Micky," Davy called out, taking the third seat.

"We didn't wake you, did we Davy?" Micky asked. Davy shook his head no.

"Where's Peter?" Davy inquired.

"He is down at the beach," replied Isaac. Davy's eyes went wide and he was about to demand why Micky had allowed this when Micky cut in.

"Come crouch over here where I'm sitting," Micky instructed. Davy did so and Micky pointed a finger towards the beach. There was a large gap in between two of the bushes that surrounded the porch. Through the bushes, Davy was able to see the beach. It took him a moment to realize that, along with being able to see the beach, he was able to see Peter. Their friend was sat in by the water's edge, so that every time a wave crashed the water would tickle his toes.

"It's still risky for him to be down there alone," Davy pointed out, although he felt better. Micky gave a shrug of shoulders and said, "He doesn't exactly know that Isaac and I have been up here keeping an eye on him."

"Why is he down there? He hasn't left the pad in ages," Davy wondered, resuming his perch on the third chair.

"I'm not sure, we should ask him when he comes back up," Micky commented.

Isaac cleared his throat and asked, "I don't mean to intrude but may I ask something?"

"Sure, of course," Micky replied.

"I've noticed your friend Peter is very quiet and you all seem very concerned for him… I was wondering how he is doing?" Isaac inquired. Micky and Davy exchanged glances, then Davy answered, "He's just taken this whole thing quite hard. I mean, we all have of course, and we've all been looking out for each other. I think for Peter it's easier for him to keep mostly to himself. He's not for fighting."

"Well I mean Mike turned a lot into our mom when this whole thing started," Micky added. Isaac nodded, understandingly.

"Do you make sure he gets enough to eat and enough sleep?" he asked, unsure if this was a polite enough question.

"Yeah, but it's hard, he's very insistent on giving away half of his rations and you can get pretty hungry sometimes. Sleepwise, Peter has terrible nightmares and wakes up more tired than when we went to bed," Micky admitted.

"But everyone has trouble sleeping in a time like this, and Peter's only trying to be nice. We've all given each other half a ration or two, now and then," Davy pointed out, "Why all of the questions Isaac?" Isaac chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before answering, "All of you seem like nice, capable young men and I can understand how hard it is for any survivor. I lost my family to the infection, but as a doctor I had seen death before. It hurt but I knew it was important I keep going on. Heather lost her parents and most likely her entire family as well. She's very young, and she didn't see much of a point in going on. That's why I ask." Davy and Micky grew quiet.

"You're a good guy Isaac," Micky said after a moment, "I'm glad you think about that sort of stuff. But none of us would be doing anything like that any time soon. As long as we have each other, we can get through anything."

"Yeah, and I hope you lot will stick around too," Davy added with a smile.

"Oh, we will stay as long as we are welcome. Heather likes it here very much and I wouldn't plan on taking her out of such a lovely environment too soon," Isaac assured the two of them.

"Well I'll tell ya something, Mike may seem like he'd rather you guys gone but really I think he wants you guys to stay," Micky whispered, grinning broadly. They talked a little more after that. Micky and Davy voiced a few of their worries about their group, Isaac did his best to reassure them, and he even was able to give Davy some peace of mind in regards to his home country. Isaac had, a couple of months ago, heard on the radio a man in London broadcasting on empty channels. From there he had gathered that much of the world was in a similar, desperate state, but that this fellow had said that there were a significant amount of people within the UK who were still alive. This relieved Davy greatly and Micky was happy to hear him go on about his family over the sea. That had been a sore subject for him for some time but, at least for a little bit, the pain was subsided. It was only a few minutes later when Peter appeared on the porch. Davy had nearly forgotten that he had been down on the beach.

"Morning Peter!" Micky called out brightly. A slight frown creased Peter's brow.

"What are you all doing out here?" he asked.

"Just having a chat," Davy responded.

"You won't tell Mike I was down there alone, will you?" Peter inquired, realizing that they must have noticed that he had snuck down to the beach.

"Wouldn't dream of it man," Micky promised.

"Speaking of Mike, we better get everyone up so we can start the day," Davy said, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

"Yeah, we gotta do rounds," grumbled Micky.

"I'll get breakfast ready," Davy announced before walking back inside the pad. Isaac excused himself with the duties of having to go wake up Ronda and Heater. It was only Micky and Peter left out on the porch. Before Peter could go inside, Micky grabbed him by the elbow.

"Hey, wait Pete, I want to ask you something," Micky told him. Peter looked at him with a mix of uncomfortableness and confusion.

"Alright Micky," he said.

"Why'd you go down on the beach alone this morning?" Micky questioned. An uncomfortable feeling crept it's way into Peter's stomach and he felt a bit sick. Micky hadn't asked it to be mean, he just seemed a bit worried and Peter couldn't blame him. He knew going down to the beach alone was a dangerous risk. Peter glanced down at his bare feet.

"I go down there a lot actually… whenever I can in the mornings. I watch the sunrise. And I think while I do that…. I'm sorry," Peter murmured. Micky chewed on his bottom lip, unsure of what to say exactly. He didn't like the fact that Peter was being so reckless but at the same time it was a relief to know that Peter was getting out of the pad, specifically his room.

"There's no need to be sorry Peter," Micky finally said after a moment, "All I'd say is take me, Davy, or Mike with ya. Even Ronda, Isaac, or Heather, I guess too. Just don't go alone anymore. Because you aren't alone babe, you've got us." For a moment, Peter looked as if he was going to cry, but the blonde merely sniffled a little and gave Micky a quick, tight hug instead.

"Alright Micky," he smiled. A seagull screeched loudly and took off from nearby. Peter jumped, grabbing onto Micky's arm, as if that action would protect him.

"We should get inside," Micky chuckled, patting Peter on the back.


	4. Chapter 4

Two Months After the Outbreak

The infected had nearly gotten in. It had been quite touch and go there for a little bit, especially from Mike's standpoint. Peter, although still unwilling to speak, had tried to stop him, Micky, and Davy from fighting the infected that were trying to get into the pad. Halfway through, Mike had told Davy to take Peter upstairs and keep him there while he and Micky dealt with the problem at hand.

Davy had struggled a little but he was eventually able to drag Peter upstairs. But now the infected were gone and everything was alright. When the all clear was given, Davy came downstairs with Peter. Michael made no comment about the red tinge he noticed in his smaller friend's eyes.

"Hey man, what's your hang up?" Micky asked Peter, wiping the sweat from his face with his palms. It sounded casual enough, almost as if everything wasn't falling apart, and they were still a band just looking for their big break. Peter didn't say anything, he barely even looked at Micky.

"Peter didn't mean anything by it," Davy said in response, his voice quavering a little.

"Micky, help me nail the broken boards back onto the back door," Mike instructed, picking up one of the three hammers they kept close at hand and a handful of nails as well. Micky placed a hand onto Davy's shoulder.

"Wanna make us some tea?" he asked, his voice soft. Micky hated tea, couldn't stand the stuff, but he had noticed earlier on that for some unknown reason it really helped Davy to… calm down, Micky supposed, or at the very least be less likely to burst into tears.

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," nodded Davy. He lead Peter over to the lounge chair and sat him down there before heading into the kitchen. There it was again.

That cringing feeling in his stomach. Micky hated this, hated the fact that he and his friends had to live in this sort of world. Mike, like Micky felt, seemed unphased, dealing with the issues at hand and that was that. But Peter had completely shut down. That alone was enough to shatter Micky's heart, but Davy was falling to pieces, slowly. At least with Pete, it had been instantaneous (Micky despised thinking that but it often came to mind).

"Micky, c'mon man," Mike's voice cut through Micky's train of thought.

"I'm coming" Micky grumbled, picking up a hammer of his own. They fixed up the broken board easily enough, they had had enough practice at it by now, but before they left, Micky whispered to Mike, "What do you think was up with Peter today?" Mike shot a glance over to where Peter was curled up, apparently asleep again.

"I ain't really sure," Mike admitted, "But I hope he doesn't do that again. He could have gotten us in some real trouble there." There was a beat of silence between them. Micky heard Davy getting the mugs out from the cupboard.

"Mike, do you think Peter's doing okay? I'm worried about him… on the subject, you think Davy's doing okay too?" Micky inquired after debating whether or not to ask. Mike sucked on his bottom lip. A frown creased his brow.

"I dunno. They're doin' just fine, as fine as can be expected I guess," he finally answered with a shrug. Micky wanted to talk about their friends more but Mike sidled past him to go help Davy with the tea. He hated when Mike avoided that topic. It seemed as if two of the biggest concerns Micky had were off limits for Michael, those topics being of course all of their states (both mental and physical) and what their endgame goal was.

Micky shut his eyes for a moment, pushing the sickening feeling in his stomach away as best he could. Sooner or later, he and Mike would have to discuss everything, and Micky would rather that be sooner, rather than later. Before something irreversible happened.

The clouds the next evening were beautiful, a mixture of pale red and purple. The evening rounds were Micky's favourite because the sky was always quite beautiful. It made him feel better on this evening especially. He and Mike were walking along the beach, heading back from the rounds. Micky fumbled around in his pocket until he found the little box he had stashed a couple of joints in. Once he had found them, he spoke.

"Mike, hey man, c'mere," Micky said, flopping down onto the sand and patting the ground next to him. Mike turned around and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Micky, we have to get back to the pad, we don't have time to sit down," Mike insisted. Micky shook his head, opening the box and taking out one of the joints. He held it up for Mike to see.

"Sit down man, have one of these if you want," Micky wouldn't budge. He couldn't let Mike go up to the pad. Sitting on the sand was sort of a cheap move, considering Micky knew that Mike wouldn't leave the beach unless Micky went with him. Mike had been buddy-system crazy since the disease had broken out.

"Where'd you get those?" Mike inquired as he reluctantly took a seat next to Micky and took the joint. Micky took one for himself, then pocketed the box and brought out a lighter.

"Not really sure, I think I either picked them up during a run or before the whole thing started," Micky shrugged, lighting both of the joints and then took a drag of his on. After a moment of consideration, Mike did the same.

"Mike-," Micky began but Michael cut him off almost instantly.

"We're not going to do this right now," Mike said flatly.

"When then? When will we do this then, Mike?" Micky demanded. Mike looked at the joint in his hand and raised it to his mouth.

"I don't know, but we ain't doing it now," Mike replied. A seagull screamed a couple of feet away before taking off.

"Yes we are. I'm not moving until we talk," Micky informed his friend. Mike shut his eyes for a moment and then looked at Micky. There was a cold anger in his eyes.

"What if I don't want to talk?" he questioned. Micky ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't care. You've had enough time to sulk and I need you back now Mike," Micky replied, pausing to take a long drag on his joint, "Look man, Peter and Davy aren't doing so good and I think it's about time we take care of this stuff." Micky could tell Mike was holding back a smart remark, probably a profanity or two as well.

"Micky, we don't have anything to talk about. Peter and Davy will be fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Like hell we don't," Micky countered "Peter hasn't said a single word in about two months. Davy's cried about three times every two days and don't tell me you haven't heard him crying at night. And you… you don't want to face any of this. But you have to Mike. I can maybe help Davy on my own but there's no way I can help Peter without you. And we have to discuss what the hell we're going to do about the future. Fortify the pad or leave or whatever. I can't decide these things on my own babe, I need you to wake the fuck up and talk about these things with me."

Micky finished speaking, his stomach feeling queasy. He brought his joint to his lips. Thank god for marijuana. Mike was silent, his face turned towards the ocean now. The silence continued for longer than Micky felt comfortable with.

"I'm sorry Mike but-," he began, hoping that he hadn't completely ruined this conversation but Mike interrupted him.

"It's okay Micky, you're right," Mike said, "But I ain't got a clue for helping Peter. Or Davy, for that matter. I mean, maybe if we could figure out how to get some news from England, we could help Davy out, but Micky, how the hell are we suppose to help either of them?"

"I… well," Micky started but realized that he hadn't entirely expected to get this far, "I don't really know…"

"Exactly," Mike nodded, taking a long drag on his cigarette, "We can't help them until they decide to open up to us. I mean, let's drop some hints but that's all I can think of. And on the matter of the future, who the fuck knows? I vote we just board up the pad and hope for the best." Micky chewed on his bottom lip. Mike gave him a pat on the back.

"I'm not sayin' we can't help 'em Mick, I'm jus sayin' there ain't much we can do for 'em 'sides be there. And I'm sorry I've been a bit of an ass lately," Mike said.

"That's not true, you've just been working through your own problems and I can dig that" Micky instantly replied.

"Well look man, if you wanna, we can go back to the pad and tell the others that we're worried for 'em if you like," Mike said, flicking the butt of his joint into the ocean, "But we best be gettin' off this beach before the sun goes completely down, else we might get bit by somethin' nasty."

With that said, Mike stood up, dusting his jeans off. Micky finished off his own joint. Somehow the high was ruined by the mixed emotions he was feeling. Mike helped him up and then they headed back to the pad. They found Davy sitting on the lounge, crying quietly into his hands. Peter was nowhere to be seen, meaning he was probably laying in his bed. Upon hearing the patio door open, Davy quickly tried to stop crying, drying his face with the sleeves of his sweater.

"Hiya guys, what took you so long? I was beginning to worry," Davy exclaimed, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. His voice sounded hoarse. Micky wondered how long he had been crying and the cause.

"We're alright shotgun," Mike flashed Davy a reassuring smile, "I'm gonna start dinner. But Micky's got something to tell ya." Micky shot Mike a frowning look but the Texan's back was to him as he went into the kitchen.

"Did something happen on the rounds?" Davy squeaked, tears already appearing in his eyes.

"No, nothing happened on rounds," Micky assured the smaller man, "I just… well me and Mike wanted to let you know that you can talk to any of us if you wanna talk about stuff." Davy chewed on the inside of his left cheek for a moment.

"I don't cry that much," he murmured.

"It's okay to cry," Micky shrugged, unsure of the proper response to that statement. Davy looked down at his barefeet.

"Thanks Micky," he mumbled and then shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around Micky's frame.

"Hey Davy, can you come help me with supper?" Mike called from the kitchen. Davy glanced up at Micky, who nodded his head. Davy wandered over to go help Mike. Micky heaved a sigh and decided it was time. Mike didn't appear to be willing to help Micky out with Peter, but at least it seemed that Micky had gotten through to Mike a little, if not a lot. Micky went into Peter and Davy's room. Peter was sprawled on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Hiya Peter," Micky greeted, sitting down on the edge of Peter's bed. Peter didn't say anything.

"Look, I'm not expecting you to start talking until you're ready, but just remember that Mike, Davy, and myself are here for you when you wanna start. We love you man," Micky continued.

Again, Peter gave no response. What had Micky been expecting? He wasn't sure. So he gave Peter's hand a quick squeeze and then exited the room. Peter didn't come out for dinner and no one went to get him. Micky was relieved to see that Mike was engaging in conversation with Davy about a new song.

Mike hadn't talked about music in a while, none of them had, but tonight it seemed a hot subject that brought a little bit of a smile to both Mike's and Davy's face. Dinner was cleaned up and Mike got out his guitar. Davy sang and Micky drummed out a beat. That was how they finished up their evening. Micky was beginning to feel the relief wash over his. His plan, although not very well thought out, was seeming to be going well.

An hour or two later, it was decided that it was time for bed. The three Monkees exchanged good night's. Mike and Micky headed upstairs to their bedroom and Davy entered his and Peter's. Peter appeared to be asleep. Davy lingered near Pete's bed. Tonight, Davy wouldn't cry. He wondered how often Peter heard him crying at night.

"Goodnight Peter, love you," Davy whispered. Peter didn't move, his light snoring the only thing to be heard, excluding the ocean waves. With that, Davy clambered into his bed. Much later, in the early hours of the morning, Micky was woken up by Mike.

"Micky, Peter's on the beach," Mike was barking at him. A frown creased Micky's brow and he realized that Davy was in the room too, nearly hysterical.

"Micky! Wake up!" Mike snapped. Micky shook his head and leapt out of bed.

"I'm awake, I'm awake, let's go," Micky said, hurrying to the door.

"I don't understand why he's going down there," Davy whimpered.

"Davy, get a grip on yourself okay, everything's goin' be okay," Michael reassured the Englishman. They rushed down the stairs and headed towards the patio doors. Mike paused to open the closet door. He rummaged around for a moment before returning.

"Where'd you get that?" Micky asked upon seeing the gun Mike held.

"Had it for emergencies, let's go," Mike answered curtly, before moving past Micky. He and Davy quickly followed. They arrived on the shore and there was Peter heading towards the waves. It took them all a moment to realize that he was talking to himself.

"I have to wake up now, I have to wake up now," he kept repeating, his voice a whining pitch. The waves tried to topple him over but Peter kept pushing against them, going deeper into the ocean.

"Peter!" Day wailed and ran forward, but Micky knew he was in no condition to swim right now.

"I got him," Micky shouted and jogged towards the water, leaving Mike to keep look out for any infected.

"I have to wake up now," Peter kept repeating.

"Peter what are you doing?" Micky called out to his friend. Peter didn't seem to hear him. He just kept pushing forward. The currents were beginning to pull him under the water. Micky's heart began to beat fast against his ribcage.

"Peter! Peter stop!" Micky yelled, but again Peter didn't seem to hear.

A large wave sucked the blonde bassist under. Micky's heart stopped and he dove, blindly groping. Nothing. Micky came up and dove again. This time Micky got lucky. His fingers closed around Peter's nightshirt. Micky pulled the man closer, grabbing onto an arm. Peter flailed, trying to escape Micky's grip. Micky yanked Peter above the water.

"Wake up, Peter! Please, wake up! I want to wake up now," Peter sobbed.

"Peter, Peter, it's okay, it's me," Micky shouted, pulling Peter closer to him.

Peter blinked rapidly, seeming to be coming to his senses. His eyes went wide and he began to say something but a wave dragged both of them under. Micky struggled to keep a grip on Peter, but he managed. They came to the surface again. Not wanting to get hit by another wave, Micky began to swim back to shore. Eventually, Peter helped as well, and they made it back.

"Peter! Oh Peter christ, I was so scared," Davy sobbed, rushing over to embrace his two drenched friends.

"I don't… I don't understand, I- I was dreaming… I'm dreaming…," Peter mumbled. Then he collapsed onto the sand, sobbing. Davy fell to his knees, petting Peter's hair lovingly.

"You aren't dreaming but it's okay, shh," Davy said, his own crying seeming to be forgotten.

"Davy, give Peter some room," Micky instructed, tugging at Davy's arm. Davy looked up at Micky alarmed but backed away.

"Peter can you tell us what you were doing out there?" Micky asked, kneeling down next to Peter. Peter wouldn't stop crying. Micky glanced up at Mike. He noticed that the Texan was pale with fright.

"Peter, I know it's scary but please talk to us," Davy pleaded.

"I… I'm sorry, so sorry… I thought… I was dreaming… I needed to wake up," Peter sniffled. Davy wrapped his arms around Peter.

"It's alright Pete, you're awake now," Mike said, joining the others on the sand.

"And you're talking," Davy added, a smile grin breaking out on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

One Year After the Outbreak

It had been a week, give or take a few days, since Ronda, Isaac, and Heather had been brought to the pad. Things had settled into a nice little routine fairly quickly. The guys even had an excuse now to play their instruments, although Peter only joined in now and then. Things had been good but there was something in the air, an uneasy feeling that the gang felt every so often.

"Bye guys! See you later," Heather chirped, waving as Mike, Micky, Ronda, and Isaac left for the afternoon rounds.

Usually, the buddy system worked well enough, but recently there had been an increase in the number of infected around. Mike had decided a few days ago that it would be better if the rounds were performed by a group of four, leaving three behind to guard the house. Heather rarely ever got called on rounds, which she felt conflicted about. Of course she didn't want to be around the infected and she was happy to be left out of the rotations, but at the same time she didn't want be useless to the group. She wanted to be important and help out.

A few minutes after the foursome had left for rounds, Heather found Davy sitting on the steps, reading.

"Hi Davy," greeted Heather. Davy glanced up from the book in his lap.

"Hello Heather," Davy answered, "What seems to be the matter?" Heather glanced at her feet for a moment.

"Oh, nothing's the matter, I was just wondering if maybe I could make dinner tonight. I know Ronda is supposed to but… I don't want to be useless to everyone. I'm not a good fighter, but I'm not a bad cook, and if I start just before the others get back, I can have it finished soon enough," Heather blurted. She hadn't meant to say that much. Davy tossed the book onto a chair and stood up, an infectious smile on his face.

"Sure you can make dinner!" he answered, and looked Heather in the face, "And no one thinks you're useless. I mean, if you're useless, than so am I."

"But you're not useless Davy," Heather instantly assured the Englishman.

"Well then there you go," Davy nodded his head, point proven in his mind. And by the way Heather was smiling, his point was proven in her mind as well.

"What time do you think I should start supper then?" Heather inquired, glancing at the clock hung on a nearby wall.

"Maybe in a couple of minutes," Davy suggested.

"Okay, I'll do that then," Heather smiled. She wrapped her arms around Davy.

"Thanks," she murmured. Davy hugged her back.

"No problem Heather," Davy said as they pulled away from each other.

Heather drifted away from Davy after that, letting the Englishman get back to the book he had been reading only moments ago. As she stood near the clock, a thought occurred to her. She sucked on her bottom lip and then thought to hell with it, why not.

With ease, Heather went over to the downstairs bedroom and nudged the door open. Peter seemed to be scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. He didn't seem to notice her arrival. Heather cleared her throat. Peter glanced up, the color draining from his face just slightly.

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Heather apologized. It had been stupid and rude not to knock.

"It's alright," Peter mumbled with a shake of his head, quickly stuffing the scrap of paper and the pencil under his pillow.

"May I ask you a question?" Heather asked. Peter looked past Heather to the door and then to his feet. He shrugged. Heather decided to take that as a yes.

"Is there anything I can make you for dinner?" she inquired.

She had noticed the small amount Peter ate and it had occurred to her that maybe he just didn't like the food. She wouldn't have blamed him. Peter looked at her, really looked.

There was silence for a moment.

"We have some spaghetti in a cupboard... You could have Davy show you where...," Peter said finally.

"I think spaghetti for dinner sounds amazing," Heather grinned, then added, "I'm very good at spaghetti too." Peter offered her a brief smile.

There wasn't much to be said after that. Heather just gave Peter a little wave and then whirled around, making a beeline for the kitchen. She didn't want any help putting this meal together. She wanted to make sure everyone knew how useful she could be.

Only a handful of minutes after Heather had started boiling the water for the spaghetti, Mike, Micky, Isaac, and Ronda returned from the evening rounds. Heather noted that there seemed to be dried blood on Micky's t-shirt.

"Heather, what're you up to?" Isaac asked. Although he was tired, he put on a brave face for Heather.

"I'm making you all dinner!" she beamed, gesturing towards the pot on the stove, "Peter and I decided it would be good to have spaghetti tonight."

Mike raised an inquisitive eyebrow, glancing towards Micky.

"I'm glad you guys decided that. I think we've all been itching for some noodley noodles," Micky said, shrugging his shoulders at Mike in response to his look.

"Did you really just say noodley?" Davy asked. Heather giggled and went back to the pot.

"I can say what I want, little man," Micky chuckled. Davy gave him a punch on the shoulder, grinning.

"Davy, let's go into the bedroom, I need to tell you something," Mike whispered, keeping his voice low enough so that Heather wouldn't be able to hear.

Davy frowned but nodded. He followed Isaac and Mike into the downstairs bedroom, leaving Micky to wander into the bathroom. He was glad that he and Mike had rigged the shower and water systems. Ocean water, river water, natural water hadn't been affected. Only tap water. This had been established early on during the outbreak.

So naturally, Micky had fixed up a little thing that would convert the saltwater of the ocean into drinkable water. This device hooked up to the house and provided the water and never had Micky been happier that he had done this.

Ronda went into the kitchen to see if Heather needed any help. The older woman was happy to see Heather smiling and talking amiably to Ronda. The boys and this little house had brought some stability to Heather's life, and that change had had a positive impact on her.

"What is it you need to talk to me about Mike?" Davy questioned as Mike shut the bedroom door. Peter sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, heart beginning to pound heavily against his chest.

"Everything's alright Peter," Isaac assured the blonde.

"There ain't no point sugar coating it, Isaac," Mike countered, turning around and sitting down on the opposite bed.

"Sugar coat what? Mike, what's wrong?" Davy asked, looking directly at the Texan. There was a cold sense of fear in his body now.

"Rounds nearly went to hell," Mike began.

"No one was hurt," Isaac said upon seeing Peter's face whiten.

"Well, we nearly lost Micky," Mike pointed out.

"For christ sake, one of you bloody well explain what happened during rounds and why we are here," Davy barked. Mike and Isaac stared at Davy for a moment.

"Alright," Isaac said after a moment, "Mike can explain." Mike nodded, a frown creasing his brow.

"On rounds today, nearing the west borders, round the shops, we ran into some trouble. There were a strange lot of infected laying round. Micky and Ronda were on watch while Isaac and I grabbed a few medical supplies from the pharmacy. Micky got attacked. Ronda pulled the infected off 'im but not without getting Micky bloody. We got worried about contact but it only got on his shirt," Mike explained.

"That's why we're here. This is the third time that we've seen an increased about of infected in the area," Isaac added.

"Okay, okay," Davy said slowly, "So… what? Are we going to leave?"

"We dunno yet. Mick says we can hold out here, so says I. But Ronda and Isaac say we need to keep the possibility of leaving open, and I agree. That's why we wanted to ask you two, seeing as we're all a family now, more or less," Mike sighs.

Davy glances over at Peter, but Peter's looking at the ceiling, eyes intensely focused upwards. He swings his gaze back to Mike and Isaac.

"This is our home," he began, "And I don't think any of us want to leave. But… it makes sense. To be ready, if we need to leave. But I think it's the easiest and safest plan if we stay for as long as possible."

"Ronda and I agreed that would be a good course of action," Isaac nodded his head, "Heather has never been happier here. She's been through a lot and it's nice to see her happy. Plus it gives Ronda a break. She pushes herself too hard sometimes."

"Alright, then it seems like that's an agreement," Isaac said, glancing at Peter who hadn't said anything yet.

"Peter, is there anything you'd like to voice?" Isaac asked after a moment.

"No…. I um, think I'm going to go see if Heather wants help with… dinner," Peter shrugged, standing up and sidling up to the door.

"It'll be okay Pete," Mike told him as he opened the door. Peter gave Mike a smile in return before slipping out of the room and into the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

Freddy gazed at one of the monitors that was hooked up to cameras all around the outside of the building. There wasn't anything on the screen. Freddy's leg bounced up and down, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he did so.

"Freddy, do you want to open that bottle of pop?" Julia asked, her voice drifting in from the kitchen.

"For dinner?" Freddy called back.

"Yeah, what else," came Julia's voice.

"Sure, I guess so," Freddy finally responded.

"Okay, I'm gonna open it then!" Julia shouted.

Something moved on the monitor. Freddy leaned in and saw an infected woman sniffing around, looking for someone to infect. They were always looking. They never stopped. Freddy shut his eyes tightly, pushing away from the monitor.

"Fred, are you alright?" Greg's voice cut in. Freddy opened his eyes, spinning around to face Greg.

"I'm fine," Freddy reassured his friend.

"Are you getting the headaches again?" Greg inquired.

"No, no it's really nothing. I'm fine, really Greg," Freddy insisted, scrambling out of the desk chair.

Before Greg could make any other comments, Julia announced that dinner was ready. It wasn't much, merely some canned vegetables and some canned beans heated up and ladled out onto three plates, but it was something. Freddy sat down across from Julia, leaving Greg to sit down next to Freddy. They sat in silence while Julia poured them cups of soda.

"Can I say grace?" Greg asked as Julie handed them each a different coloured plastic cup.

"Yeah, sure," Freddy answered him, despite Julia's eye roll. Greg said a quick grace and then they began eating.

"Julia, did Dr. Rose radio in yet?" Greg inquired.

"Yes. She said that there is definitely a migration pattern happening within the infected. She thinks it's due to lack of available hosts for the disease, so it's driving the infected hosts further and further to find new hosts," Julia replied around a forkful of food.

Greg neglected to point out the fact that that was not anything new. Dr. Rose had said nearly the same exact thing the last time she mentioned the Southbound infected, the same day they had found out about the destruction of the Toronto survivor's camp.

"Did she mention anything about the disease beginning to affect wildlife?" Freddy spoke up.

"Umm… no I don't think Dr. Rose mentioned that," Julia informed Freddy, "Maybe you should ask her again, she might have forgotten."

"Has Dr. Wilkins checked in?" Greg asked.

"No not yet, so be sure to answer when she does," Julia said, fixing Greg with a stern look.

"I promise I won't fall asleep on duty again," sighed Greg, sinking into his seat a little.

"I hope she's stopped interacting with that one church group… they give me the heebie-jeebies," Freddy commented.

"I don't think they're doing anything wrong," Greg mumbled.

"You have to admit that they kinda believe intensely that this is the rapture," Julia pointed out.

"Dr. Wilkins said that they are convinced they need to find the anti-christ to be able to ascend into heaven. During the end of days, we as humans cling to our beliefs and that's all that they are doing," Greg argued.

"They still creep me out," Freddy shivered. Greg shook his head and shoveled the last of his food into his mouth.

"We explain it through science, they explain it through religion, there isn't much of a difference," said Greg as he stood.

"Oh come on, don't be upset," Julia sighed. She didn't want to have to go through peace negotiations with Greg again. Those were tiring and she wasn't in the mood for it.

"I'm not upset, I'm really not Julia. I'm just tired," Greg assured her, running a hand through his hair and giving Julia what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"We're all tired," said Freddy, "But I'm not that tired. Do you want me to take your shift tonight?"

Greg fixed Freddy with a frown.

"No, you need your rest too Fred," Greg said.

"I'm going to take your shift," Freddy insisted. Greg didn't argue after that.

Freddy was glad because he didn't want Greg or Julia to know why he wanted to stay up. They wouldn't approve. He needed to talk to Dr. Rose, and fast. And he needed to avoid talking with Dr. Wilkins at all costs.


	7. Chapter 7

"Heather this was an excellent meal," Ronda said as she collected the dishes for washing up.

"Thank you Ronda!" beamed Heather. She had received some sort of praise from the whole group and it was making her feel so happy.

Ronda moved over to the sink to wash the dishes and the pot Heather had used, Davy coming over to help her out.

"Man, we should play some tunes tonight," Micky suggested, wandering over to the little alcove where the band kept their instruments.

"I'm not sure…," Mike began but Heather cut him off.

"Oh please! That would be so wonderful!" Heather exclaimed. Isaac shot her a look, warning her not to push anything.

"I think Micky's right," Peter agreed. Mike gave him a smile, pleasantly surprised. He and the others had noticed the positive change that was happening to Peter. He was more talkative, more interactive.

"Well shucks, I guess we'll have to play now," Mike grinned. Heather cheered and sat down, cross-legged, at the base of the alcove.

Micky bent down behind his drum kit, rummaging around back there to find his sticks. It took him a moment, but he found them eventually and then sat down. Peter scurried over to the alcove as well, getting out his bass. It had been awhile since he had properly played his guitar, properly played it with the love any instrument deserved to be played with.

Davy and Ronda finished drying the dishes and putting them away. With that finished, Davy went into the downstairs bedroom, which was now the Monkees collective bedroom since Heather, Ronda, and Isaac slept in the upstairs one. Meanwhile, Mike got out his gretch guitar. Shortly Davy came back with three maracas.

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't remember where I left them," Davy apologized as he leapt up onto the alcove platform. Isaac and Ronda settled down on the two chairs that they had turned to face the alcove.

And so the band began to play. At first they each did their own little thing, in a warming up sort of way, but eventually they fell into a rhythm, which turned into a familiar song they all remembered. Once they fell into a song they all recalled, the vocals were thrown in. The first song they played, Micky sang. Then Mike sang a little tune, improvising in one section where he forgot the lyrics.

All in all they played five songs, Micky singing two, Mike singing one, and Davy singing the last two. After each one, Heather burst into applause, gushing about how amazing this was and that was. Ronda and Isaac joined in at the end. It wasn't that they didn't enjoy the music, it was just that Heather seemed to be enraptured and she needed this moment more than them.

"You guys are so amazing! Like the guitars were… so groovy and then the singing! Wow!" Heather exclaimed as the guys packed up their instruments. Well, alright, as Mike and Peter put away their guitars and Davy went back into the downstairs bedroom to put away his maracas.

"Thanks Heather, I'm glad you dug our tunes," Micky grinned.

"You boys are very talented," Ronda said. Mike nodded his head in acknowledgement to Ronda's compliment.

"You should play again tomorrow! That was so amazing!" Heather gushed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Aha, well maybe we will," Davy chuckled as he came out of the downstairs bedroom. Heather threw her arms into the air and cheered.

"Well, I think for the night, we should all get some shut eye," Mike said, feigning a yawn. It was late. Heather and the gang needed their sleep.

"Aw, really?" pouted Micky.

"I think Mike's right," Heather agreed. Isaac gave her a curious look.

"You don't wish to stay up?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well… I don't know, if Mike says it's bedtime, it's bedtime… it'd be the same if you or Ronda said so," Heather shrugged, her cheeks colouring pink a little.

"I'm bushed, so I'm off to sleep anyhow," Davy called from the downstairs bedroom.

"Goodnight Davy!" the three remaining Monkees, Heather, and Isaac chorused.

"Goodnight fellas," Davy replied.

"Let's head upstairs then, Heather," said Isaac. Heather took ahold of his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Goodnight Micky, Mike," she said, turning to look at each Monkee respectively. Then she turned to Peter and said, "Goodnight Peter, thank you for helping decide dinner tonight."

"Night Heather… it was no problem," Peter responded in a quiet voice.

Heather grinned and released Isaac's hand, going over to Peter to embrace him in a large hug. Peter patted her back and then Heather pulled away. With that finished, Ronda, Isaac, and Heather made their way upstairs, with Mike and Micky calling their own goodnight's after them.

"Seems like you've taken a liking to Heather, huh Peter?" Micky smiled, wrapping an arm around Peter's shoulder.

"Yes, she's very… nice," Peter confirmed.

"Glad Micky was idiot enough to bring strangers back to the pad," Mike teased. Micky rolled his eyes.

"I feel bad for Heather. She's very young, she doesn't deserve any of this," Peter commented, his voice sounding distant.

"Well she's alright Peter. She's got Isaac and Ronda, and us!" Micky tried to comfort him.

"Yeah man, she's got us to give her the best sorta life she's gonna get," Mike agreed. Peter looked down at his bare feet. He wiggled his left big toe.

"I guess that's good enough," he murmured.

"Sure betcha it is!" Micky exclaimed.

The trio shuffled into the bedroom then. Peter changed his shirt while Micky slipped off into the bathroom to change into pajamas. Davy was already in Peter's bed, sound asleep. The sleeping arrangements of who slept with who varied every night. Mike settled down in Davy's bed.

When Micky came back into the room, Peter asked, "Micky, can I sleep with Mike tonight?" Micky shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure, I don't see why not," he said, clambering into Peter's bed, settling down with his back to Davy.

"Do you mind Mike?" Peter questioned.

"Course not, shotgun," Mike shook his head, scooting over a little. Peter hopped into bed.

"Lights turning off!" Micky announced before the room was plunged into an almost comforting darkness. The three men exchanged goodnight's once more and then the room fell into a silence.

Peter reached out towards Mike and found his hand. The bassist gently took hold of the Texan's hand and promptly fell asleep. This left Mike in a situation, one that was neither uncomfortable or comfortable. It just was. Sure it would be better for him if he pried Peter's hand off of his, but at the same time Mike didn't have the heart. And so Michael fell asleep wondering what he should do.

The night went by without any incidents. Heather woke up and tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn't seem to get herself to drift off. She knew it was early because both Ronda and Isaac were still fast asleep. Usually Heather woke up last, unless Micky wasn't on morning rounds that day, then it was Micky who woke up last.

But today it seemed Heather would possibly be one of the first awake. Seeing as she wasn't going to be going back to sleep, Heather quietly rolled off the bed and tiptoed out of the room. Trying to be as silent as possible, she crept downstairs. No one else was up. Heather wondered if she should go back upstairs and just lay in bed until Ronda or Isaac woke up.

She wandered over to the kitchen and then was heading back to the stairs when she noticed that the patio door was unlocked. A frown creased Heather's brow and she made her way over to the door. It was a bit chilly outside, but it was nice. The sun was shining and seagulls were crying. Heather went over to the railing on the porch and looked down. Sitting on the beach, near enough to the surf so that his toes got wet every time a wave came in, was Peter.

He was alone, as far as Heather could see. Shouldn't he be following the strict buddy system? Heather decided she wouldn't let Peter get in trouble with Mike or Ronda, and so she made her way down the wooden stairs to the beach and then padded over to Peter.

"Good morning," she greeted. Peter whirled around, body tensing.

"Sorry! Oh gosh, did I scare you?" Heather gushed, plopping down next to Peter.

"No, no, it's okay, it's okay," Peter wheezed, hand on his chest.

"Sorry," Heather repeated, "I just saw you down here alone, and you aren't supposed to be alone, so I didn't want you to get in trouble, so I came down here to make sure that, um, you didn't get in trouble with Michael or Ronda or anything."

Peter smiled at her briefly before turning to face the ocean.

"Thanks Heather, that's rather sweet of you," Peter said.

"Well I just thought it'd be something you'd do for me so…" Heather shrugged.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, the only sound between them being the crash of the waves and the occasional gull.

"Why are you down here alone, Peter?" Heather spoke finally.

"Usually Micky's sitting up on the porch," Peter admitted, "But this morning I thought I'd wake up before he did so I could have a moment alone to think."

"You do a lot of thinking," Heather began but paused, digging her left foot into the damp sand underneath her.

"Everyone thinks a lot," Peter countered.

"I asked Isaac why you don't talk much," Heather blurted. Peter glanced at her.

"What?" he frowned, confused as to what she meant.

"Well, I was wondering why you didn't talk much, like around everyone and stuff, and he said that you and Mike and Micky and Davy, you guys all had to see some tough stuff before you guys were able to get the pad all nice and stuff… and I'm sorry you guys couldn't help your neighbors or friends or anything," Heather rambled slightly.

Peter laid back on the sand so that he could look up at the sky.

"I guess Mike told Isaac then about everything," he sighed.

"I think so, yeah," Heather confirmed.

Peter gave no indication of replying. Heather laid down next to him, laying on her side so that she could look at him.

"Isaac also said that you must have seen something awful for you to not talk like you did," Heather began, gently trying to broach the topic that she wanted to.

Again, Peter gave no indication of replying. Heather waited a moment before saying, "My mom and dad died in a car accident. I'm almost sad they died of that instead of the disease, because then it means that if none of this happened, they'd still be dead."

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," Peter said sincerely.

"I was really upset about it too, until I came to the conclusion that they died for a reason. If they hadn't died, I wouldn't have met Isaac or Ronda, or even you and the guys. I would have probably been worse off than I am now. I realized that, maybe my parents aren't here, but they wouldn't want me to mope around and be sad. They'd want me to be as happy as I can, and start a new family for myself. And that's exactly what I did with Isaac and Ronda and now you guys," said Heather, at length.

Peter rolled over on his side, so that he was finally facing Heather.

"I'm glad Micky and Davy brought you guys back here too," he smiled, which Heather returned likewise.

"I know Davy cries sometimes because his family is over in England and he doesn't know if they're okay or not. I know Mike doesn't know about his family either, but he didn't like most of them to begin with so he's alright, because he has us to be his family. I don't know about Micky or you…," Heather prompted.

"What do you mean, know about us?" Peter frowned.

"Well you know… you're background story I guess… I mean I only know bits and pieces, I'm sure Isaac knows more and he just doesn't want to tell me because he thinks I'm a baby, and wants to protect me from bad things," Heather explained.

"You aren't a baby, you're very strong," Peter offered. Heather nodded acknowledgement to the compliment.

"Yeah, I know," she said, "So maybe you'll tell me what your guys's story is."

A gull cried and the waves crashed and Peter Tork chewed on his bottom lip, mulling over whether or not to say aloud what Heather wanted to know.

"Alright, I'll tell you," Peter finally said, running a hand through his hair as he flopped back onto his back.


	8. Chapter 8

Day One of the Outbreak

As usual, it was Micky who woke up last. Or at least he woke up after Mike. He'd deduced this when he had sat up in his bed and had taken note that Mike's bed was empty. Seeing that it was bright outside, Micky rolled out of bed and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then he made his way downstairs.

Davy was in the kitchen, making toast and eggs. Peter sat on the lounge chair, flipping through the comics section of one of the older newspapers the gang had laying around the pad. Micky spied Mike standing in front of the television, staring intently at the screen.

"Viewers are advised to bring anyone experiencing flu-like symptoms to the nearest doctor or hospital," Micky heard a higher pitched, female voice drifting from the TV.

"Good morning, Micky!" Peter chirped as soon as he noticed Micky's presence.

"Hiya there, Peter," Micky returned the greeting, walking over to Mike, "What's up man?" Mike pointed to the television in front of him.

"We have received reports that certain victims of flu-like symptoms have been experiencing aggressive tendencies. We are recommending that viewers refrain from drinking tap water," the news reporter droned.

"What's up with the tap water?" Micky asked, as if the news reporter was going to answer him, "Too much fluoride?" He chuckled at his own joke.

"Ya know that flu outbreak a couple of days ago?" Mike said, waiting until Micky nodded his head in confirmation, "Well, apparently the cause was some disease that's been linked back to people drinking the tap water."

A frown creased Micky's brow and he questioned, "But how's that then?"

"I dunno man, but it seems it's got a lotta people sick, so none of you guys go drinking anything from the taps," Mike instructed, finally moving away from the TV.

"What're we going to drink then? We'll run out of milk and we don't have any orange juice," Davy pointed out, handing Peter a plate with a slice of buttered toast and a heap of scrambled eggs.

"I'm aware, that's why Pete and I are gonna go out and get some stuff," Mike announced. Peter glanced at him with a look of surprise on his face.

"Why are we going together?" he asked.

"Cos I'll need help carrying and we're gonna take the Monkeemobile," Mike replied.

"Why're you taking the car? You can just walk," Micky frowned.

"I'm going to be getting some other stuff, food and such," Mike answered.

"Do you think something's going to happen?" Davy inquired.

"Everything's gonna be A-OK," Michael assured his friends, "C'mon Peter, put the eggs on that toast and eat it like a sandwich."

Peter shrugged and did as Mike said before standing up and scurrying over to the Texan.

"We'll be back soon, okay guys," Mike informed them and then Michael and Peter exited the pad. Micky didn't have a good feeling about this. Something was off, but the drummer couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly was wrong.

He wandered back over to the television and sat down on the nearby chair. The news reporter was switching over to a live reporter at Saint Elizabeth's Hospital, which coincidentally wasn't too far from the pad, it was only about twenty-five minutes away by car.

"We're here with Doctor Harold Fischer, who's going to tell us a little bit about what has been going on," the male reporter said, holding out a microphone to a white coated man.

"Thank you Travis," Dr. Fischer said, "Well, I'd like to say there is no need to panic. California is not the only state experiencing this disease or it's seemingly aggressive side-effect. There have been reports from Pennsylvania, Montana, parts of South America and Europe. We are certainly not alone. The CDC is handling this outbreak as best as they can and we want to assure everyone that there is nothing to worry about."

The reporter, Travis, moved the microphone back to his own face.

"Dr. Fischer, is it true that the CDC still doesn't know what the disease is?" Travis asked. Dr. Fischer looked uncomfortable.

"The CDC is doing their best," he repeated.

"Is it true that four people have died from this disease?" Travis pressed.

"I am not legally allowed to make comment," Dr. Fischer coughed, brows furrowing together.

Before Travis could ask another, pressing question, a young nurse burst out the doors. Travis was taken by surprise.

"Dr. Fischer, you're needed in ICU," the nurse panted.

"What's wrong, Carol?" Dr. Fischer demanded, forgetting he was on live national television.

Carol's eyes flickered to the camera for a moment before saying, "One of the patients, doctor, they, um, escaped, please you have to come quickly." Dr. Fischer didn't say anything else. He headed into the building, following the nurse as she lead him into the hospital. Travis glanced at the camera and then whirled around. There was a large crash and then Travis was making a cutting motion with his hands. The camera went dead.

Then the female news reporter was back, forcing as calm a smile that she could muster. They cut to commercial. Micky frowned, a sense of dread settling into his stomach.

"Micky, here you go," Davy said, startling Micky. The Englishman held out a plate of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. He had a second plate for himself. Micky took the plate.

"Everything okay?" Davy asked as he pulled a stool up next to the chair Micky sat in.

"The camera went off, something happened," Micky said, sweeping his free hand towards the television in an indication.

"I saw that," Davy admitted, scooping eggs into his mouth, "I'm sure it was nothing though."

"I dunno Davy, I've got a bad feeling about this," Micky admitted, beginning to eat the breakfast Davy had made him.

"It'll blow over in a few days," Davy countered, although he didn't seem too convinced despite his tough talk.

The stores had been crowded. Mike had told Peter what he needed to get, a mixture of toiletries, canned food, and other nonperishables. Mike had gone off for other things and they had met up at the cash register. They had forked over a lot of money, more money than usual, nearly all of their saved rent money.

They'd have to play a lot of gigs to get that money back. Yet Michael didn't seem to be worried about the money. After the groceries, Mike made a second stop at the hardware store. There they purchased boards, miscellaneous tools, and batteries. That was about that. Peter didn't ask why Mike was doing this, he wasn't truly sure he wanted to know.

Now they were in the Monkeemobile driving back to the pad. There wasn't much traffic and Mike had the radio shut off. Peter looked out the window, wondering if he should ask what was on Mike's mind. They turned a bend and suddenly the car lurched to a stop, sending Peter jerking forward.

His forehead collided with the dashboard, the seatbelt digging into his chest. The wind was knocked out of him and for a moment Peter saw stars. When he properly came to his senses, Mike was shaking him, asking him if he was alright.

"I'm fine Mike, I'm okay. You?" Peter answered, sucking in as much breath as he could, getting his breath back.

"I'm alright, sorry man," Mike apologized. Peter didn't see anything wrong with Mike so Peter nodded. Mike reached a hand out towards Peter, brushing against his left temple.

"You're bleeding," Mike informed him. Peter lifted his hand to his head and felt where Mike had touched him. His fingers came back bloodied, but he was sure it couldn't have been anything more than a little skinning.

"I'm fine," Peter insisted and then looked out the windshield. There were a line of cars, all honking in front of them. Mike hadn't been prepared for the sudden stop around the bend. It wasn't as if he were speeding either.

"What's all that?" Peter asked. Mike leaned forward.

A middle-aged, balding man clambered out of the car in front of the Monkeemobile. He looked around for a moment. Mike rolled down his window.

"Hey, what's going on?" Mike called out to him. The man glanced back at Mike.

"Dunno yet, can't see much," the man replied, "Hold on." Then he hopped up onto the hood of his car, standing up so that he could see a bit higher.

"There are people running this way," the man finally said after a moment.

"What? Why?" Mike frowned.

"I can't see what they're running from," the man admitted, "But maybe we should hightail it outta here too." The man hopped off the roof of his car. The people he had seen were just beginning to appear.

Mike put the car in reverse.

"Mike-?" Peter began as Mike backed up, doing his best not to hit any of the people who were running on either side of the Monkeemobile.

"Just hold on Peter," Mike mumbled, deep in concentration.

Through the open window, Peter heard screaming. The bald man who was in front of them whirled around, confused, and Peter saw a young woman running up to him. One moment they were just standing, the next the woman was on top of the man, who was on the ground now. The woman was screeching, clawing and hitting the man beneath her relentlessly.

More people were being tackled to the ground, beating each other. Peter couldn't look away from the balding man and the woman. Mike leaned out of the open window.

"Get out of the way!" he demanded of the people who were preventing him from turning around.

Peter watched as the woman suddenly… what, vomited? Spat? Something came out of her mouth and dribbled into the man's mouth, which she held open at a painful angle. A cold, numb feeling spread throughout Peter's body.

It was happening to others around them.

"To hell with it," Mike grunted and then turned the Monkeemobile around.

People got out of the way, although he did hit a few people, the people who seemed… sick. But they hardly noticed. Once properly turned around, Mike floored it. He rolled up the window and sped along the road.

"We'll go the other way home," he said.

"What was that Mike?" Peter nearly whimpered.

"I'm not sure," Mike admitted.

"Mike… did you… did you see-," Peter stumbled over what he was trying to say but he didn't need to finish.

"Yeah Peter, I saw that whole gory thing, with the vomit," Mike confirmed.

"Was that… what was that?" repeated Peter, not really expecting an actual answer from Mike.

"Whatever it was, it wasn't good and I don't think that's the last we're gonna see of it," said Mike matter-of-factly.

Peter wasn't sure if Mike was scared or not but he did know how he felt. Peter was scared. But he knew things would be alright, as long as he and Mike and Micky and Davy stuck together.

They drove the rest of the way home in silence. When they arrived, Mike pulled into the driveway and took the keys out of the ignition. He and Peter headed into the house. Micky and Davy were still sitting by the television.

"Hey, there you guys are!" Micky exclaimed, smiling in relief, "The mayor just came on, announcing that everyone needed to stay indoors until police could get the situation under control."

"Situation?" Peter frowned as Mike put the grocery and hardware store bags onto the kitchen table.

"Lots of riots, really nasty looking too if I may say. They've been running segments on all the channels since ten o'clock this morning," Davy answered, gesturing towards the TV.

"Oh, we saw one," Peter said.

"Yeah but it wasn't any riot," Mike commented.

"What've you got there?" Micky questioned, getting up and walking over to where Mike was.

"Micky, we can't drink out of the taps until you fix up somethin' that will filter the ocean water," Mike said, handing him the hardware bag, "So I bought you a bunch of tools, didn't know which ones you'd need."

Micky peered down into the bag. He looked back up to Mike, glancing at the grocery bags still on the table.

"How much this cost man? I mean, looking at this stuff, I'd say you used up a lot of rent money. How we gonna pay Mr. Babbit?" Micky asked.

"We don't gotta worry about rent right now," Mike assured Micky.

"Not going to worry about rent?" Davy gasped, getting up and wandering over to join Micky and Mike.

"We're gonna have to play a lotta gigs to make up this money, Mike," Micky pointed out.

"We needed the tools more than the money," replied Mike, "Davy I need you to help me bring in the boards that are still in the car."

"You bought boards? For what?" Micky demanded.

"For boarding up the pad," Mike explained.

"Why though? All of this crazy riot stuff will blow over soon enough, won't it?" Davy frowned, looking from Mike and Micky.

"I have this feeling that it ain't gonna be over any time soon," admitted Mike. Micky sucked on his lower lip for a moment, glancing down at the tools in the bag.

"I've got the same awful feeling," he murmured.

Davy could see that neither Mike nor Micky were kidding around.

"Alright, I'll help bring in the boards," he sighed and headed to the front door. While Mike and Davy did that, Micky went upstairs to inspect the tools Mike had purchased. Peter sat down in front of the television and watched as a male news reporter was once again telling the public to stay indoors.

Sometimes, people panic and then everything goes back to normal. Micky almost thought that would happen with this. But the next morning, things seemed worse. The news was on every channel, continuing to tell people to stay indoors, stay away from the sick, to avoid drinking tap water.

Doctors were on explaining symptoms to watch out for and to assure the public that the CDC was doing their best to contain the outbreak. Everyone on the television kept saying "stay calm". It was their mantra and Micky got the sneaking suspicion that even they didn't believe that this was a time to stay calm.

Most of the day was spent by boarding up the pad, hammering boards over the windows. Micky kept taking breaks to think up of a filtration system for the house. That night, for the first time since yesterday morning, Mike shut off the TV. They played a game, Mike insisted that they did so. It was fun.

It was on the third day that things really began. Nothing on the television had changed, expect that people were being advised to stay as far away as possible from anyone who was infected. That was when there was a knock on the door.

Peter opened it to reveal Mrs. Umberland, a little old lady who lived four houses down from theirs. She was standing with a young looking man and a black car was parked in the driveway behind the Monkeemobile.

"Good morning, Peter, dear!" Mrs. Umberland greeted, wrapping Peter up into a hug.

"Hi, Mrs. Umberland," Peter said, confused as to why she was here.

"Mrs. Umberland's here?" Micky squawked and hopped down the stairs to the front door.

"Hello boys!" Mrs. Umblerland grinned, "I wanted to stop by before I left, to bid my farewells to you sweet young things."

"You're leaving?" Davy asked.

"Yes, my son- he's a doctor you know- well he thinks it'd be better if we left town and so we are," Mrs. Umberland explained, "But I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye to you boys and giving you these."

Mrs. Umberland held out two bags full of this and that.

"Mom, please, we've got to go," the young man hissed. Mrs. Umberland gave him a stern look.

"I told you, Louis, I have to say goodbye to the boys," she told him firmly. Micky took the bags and put them down beside the front door.

"What's happening?" Mike asked, directing the question more towards Mrs. Umberland's son.

"Oh I don't want to hear again, tell them when I'm in the car," Mrs. Umberland cut in.

Then she said goodbye to the gang individually, giving each of them a large hug as she did so. After that was finished, she plodded over to the car and clambered into the passenger's side. Mike looked at the son expectantly.

"The news isn't telling anyone jack crap, you know," Louis began, unsure of how to start, "The infection, it's way worse then they're saying. It's spread by blood to blood contact. They spit or vomit in your mouth, and you better hope you die from the wounds they give you from beating you. And they don't stop screaming."

"Is it bad?" Davy wanted to know.

"Yeah, it is," Louis nodded, "The infection only takes about a day or so to set in. Look, this is some science fiction stuff, I swear, because those people, the infected ones, they're dead. And it's this illness that's taking over their bodies, using them to find a new host."

"How bad is it?" Mike asked but Louis shook his head.

"Look, I gotta take care of my mom, you guys are on your own," he said sharply. Micky was about to say something but Mike spoke before he could.

"I understand. Good luck," he told Louis. Louis nodded and then headed over to the car where Mrs. Umberland was waiting.

"Jeez, that guy woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Micky grumbled.

"Davy, are the windows all boarded up?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, why?" Davy replied.

"I sure hope Mrs. Umberland and her son get to wherever they're going safely," Peter murmured, giving one last wave as Louis backed out of the driveway.

"That guy seemed in an awful hurry," Mike told Davy.

Micky agreed. That was when all four of them heard it. A continuous chorus of whining. At least, that's what it sounded like at first. The noise continued to get louder. Screams. They were screams.

"We're going to board up the front door, Micky go finish the back," Mike instructed, just as Peter darted outside.

"The hell? Where are you going?" Mike shouted. Peter whirled around.

"We have to go warn the neighbors," Peter called back.

"Get back in here right now," Mike ordered.

"We have to warn them though, Mike," Davy pointed out.

"We don't, Peter get back into the house now," Mike snapped.

But Peter wasn't listening, he knew it was the right thing to do, to go warn their neighbors. So he sprinted down the driveway. He heard Mike calling after him, cursing too, and he knew that one or two of his friends would be coming after him. All he needed to do was warn the neighbors, it wasn't a big deal. The screams were close, but Peter was a fast runner.

He made it onto the street and headed for the first house. Everything happened in a sort of blur after that. The black car that Mrs. Umberland and her son were in came barreling towards Peter, nearly clipping him, but the bassist managed to sidestep out of the way just in time.

Davy was coming towards him after that. Then there was a loud screech and Peter saw a young boy coming towards his direction. He was very pale and the veins on his skin were clearly visible. It didn't take a scientist or a doctor to tell that the child was infected and horribly sick. Davy grabbed onto Peter's arm and began dragging the taller man towards the pad, just as other infected appeared.

As soon as they made it back onto the driveway, there was a large crash, the crunch of metal, and a loud car horn blared. Davy and Peter looked at one another.

"It couldn't be Mrs. Umberland, Peter," Davy said to his shaking friend and began propelling themselves forward again, as the screams grew closer, heading back to safety.

Now they were in sight of the door, nearly there, when Henry Johnston, a middle-aged, recently divorced man who lived directly next to the Monkees, came hobbling to the end of their driveway.

"Help! Please! Stop, wait!" he shouted.

"Mr. Johnston, look out!" Davy exclaimed, but it wasn't in time.

The boy Peter had seen just moments before was behind Henry. He headbutted the older man, who collapsed to the ground as if he were a stack of cards blown over by a light breeze. Peter on instinct made to go help the man but suddenly he was airborne.

"Davy, house now," Mike shouted.

Michael had picked Peter up and was now rushing him into the house. Davy followed, a pained expression twisting his facial features. Peter watched as the boy pounded Mr. Johnston, heard the cries for help from the older man.

"We have to help him!" Peter shrieked, trying to squirm out of Mike's grip, but the Texan wouldn't look go until they were past the threshold of the door.

Once inside, Mike slammed the door and began hammering boards across it. Davy helped. After a few boards were over top the door, Mike leaned against it. That was when Peter punched Mike square in the face. It hurt. Mike stared at Peter, shocked, a hand going to his face.

"Peter!" gasped Micky, who had just finished boarding up the patio door and had just came over.

"We could have helped Mr. Johnston," Peter shouted at Mike. He was crying and he felt sick.

"No, you couldn't have. You woulda gotten-," Mike started but Peter wouldn't let him finish.

"I don't care what would have happened to me, you did the wrong thing Mike, we should have helped Mr. Johnston, we could have and we should have," Peter spat.

"Peter, calm down, I know you're upset, but let's not point fingers," Davy said. None of them had ever really seen Peter this angry before.

"Why didn't you let me help him? He's…," Peter broke off, his voice cracking, just as the screams from the outside drifted into the pad, muffled by the walls.

"You couldn't have helped him, you would have just gotten yourself hurt or worse," Mike explained, but now he wasn't so sure he believed himself.

Then there was a loud bang on the door. A voice. It was Mr. Johnston.

"Boys! Boys, please, please let me in!" he moaned. He had to be hurt. Peter's eyes went wide and he shoved Mike out of the way, fingers trying to pry off the boards on the door.

There was a loud thunk and Mr. Johnston's pleas were lost in a series of squeals and screeches, as the infected undoubtedly went at the poor man again. The Monkees stood motionless, eyes fixed on the front door. One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed.

Finally the noise subsided. There was distant shouting, someone telling someone else to get into a car. The screeches of the infected drifted away, fading into the distance, heading most likely to whatever poor soul had been shouting.

Peter began to try to pry off the boards again.

"Peter, stop," said Micky, grabbing the bassist's left arm and pulling him away from the door.

Peter wrenched his arm out of Micky's grasp and turned to Mike.

"You killed him!" he screamed and then he stormed into the downstairs bedroom, door slamming behind him. Unknown to the others, it was that night that Peter decided he was dreaming, that this couldn't be real at all because how could Michael Nesmith, his best friend and the sweetest man alive, how could he allow a man to die on their doorstep. It was that night that Peter checked out and stopped speaking.

Micky looked at Mike. He looked frightened.

"Hey man, he'll get over it. He'll be alright," Micky told him.

"I know, I… yeah I know," Mike stammered, shaking his head. He glanced at Davy, who was still staring at the door.

"You okay there Davy?" Mike asked.

"Um… yes… I think I am," Davy answered slowly.

The day rolled on by. Micky focused on coming up with a system that would filter the ocean water into the tap systems. Davy made tea, a lot of tea, so much tea that Mike and Micky couldn't keep up with drinking all of it.

Mike made dinner that evening. Micky had knocked on the downstairs bedroom door, asking Peter if he wanted anything to eat, but Peter hadn't replied. When Micky poked his head into the room, he saw Peter laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He wouldn't respond to Micky, so Micky gave up.


	9. Chapter 9

One Year After the Outbreak

The waves crashed onto the beach, filling the silence that followed after Peter had finished telling his story. Heather dried the tears that had dripped down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she whispered.

"It's okay, Heather," Peter assured her, but Heather didn't think he sounded so sure of himself.

"I'm sure the older lady got safely away with her son though," Heather offered, wishing to give Peter some comfort.

"If you say so," Peter sighed, "But that's all in the past now. People move on."

"Yeah, they do," Heather agreed, wondering what she should say next.

This was easily solved though because suddenly, she heard a whine in the air. She sat up, looking around.

"Did you hear that?" she hissed to Peter.

"Hear what?" he asked, sitting up as well.

The whining came again.

"That," said Heather.

"Yeah," said Peter, who had definitely heard it this time.

The whine was quickly turning into a low buzz, a guttural noise that could only mean one thing. An infected.

"Get up," Peter instructed, clambering to his feet. Heather did so as well.

Glancing down the beach, they both saw a quickly approaching figure.

"Up the stairs, to the pad, now," Peter exclaimed, his heart beginning to beat hard against his ribcage.

Heather was frozen. She hadn't been this close to an infected for a solid two months now. It was so close, she could hear the low scream it was emitting. Suddenly, she was being pushed. It was Peter, shoving her towards the stairs that led up to the pad.

She began to move, but then out of nowhere, an infected appeared in front of her. The bottom half of it's mouth was missing and only a high pitched whine could be heard from it. They had ganged up on them. Heather screamed, stumbling back into Peter.

"Run! Up the stairs!" Peter shouted at her, pushing her off to the side and swinging at the infected, so that it fell to the ground whereupon he stomped on it's head.

The second infected was rapidly approaching. Heather needed help, Peter was right behind her, wasn't he, she just needed to get Isaac or Mike, Jesus, she felt faint. She ran blindly. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, the scream was around her. The infected was close.

Heather ran headlong into Micky.

"Hey what's-," Micky began but Heather sobbed, "There's an infected on the beach."

"Okay, don't panic-," Micky began again but Davy pointed out, "But Peter isn't in the pad."

Micky cursed and pushed past Heather. Davy quickly updated Mike and Ronda before heading upstairs to wake Isaac. Mike began sprinting down the wooden stairs, Ronda right behind him. When he got to the bottom, Micky was pulling off a thin looking, purple veined man off of Peter.

As Micky held the infected, Ronda swung her bat, which she must have picked up on her way out of the pad. The end of the bat connected to the side of the infected's head, indenting it. It shrieked, Ronda swung again, and the struggling form went limp.

Mike yanked Peter up to his feet. He had the bloody liquid the infected produced in order to infect others coating his neck and shirt. It had beat him up pretty good as well.

"Did it infect you?" Mike demanded.

Ronda and Micky quietly looked on. Davy came pounding down the wooden steps. By the look on Peter's face, Mike didn't need a verbal answer. Mike squeezed his eyes shut.

"I… I think it did," Peter answered, his voice cracking slightly.

"Infected? You can't know that though, I mean, you didn't open your mouth or anything," Micky rambled.

"No, but it tried to put its fingers in my mouth," Peter told Micky.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean automatic infection, you're probably fine Peter, I mean-," Micky continued to ramble but Ronda stopped him.

"He is infected. We have to get rid of the problem. Trust me, the longer you wait, the worse it is," she stated.

"Peter is not a problem, he's our friend," Davy said defensively.

"My wife, she got infected and I thought it would be easier to wait. It wasn't. She infected our sons before I could stop her after she turned," Ronda flatly informed Davy.

"Well, I'm sorry about that, I truly am, but I won't let you hurt Peter," Davy insisted.

"We still don't know he's infected though guys, he really could be okay," Micky piped up.

"Can we go back into the house?" Mike asked, finally speaking, "And stop talking about Peter as if he weren't here."

"We should check around, make sure nothing else is lurking about," Davy pointed out. Ronda nodded.

"Yes, you go up with the others, Davy and I will check," she said, understanding that she had hit a nerve with Mike.

Ronda and Davy wandered off to check the grounds surrounding the pad. Mike, Micky, and Peter slowly walked back up to the pad. When they got there, Heather was sat on the lounge chair, sobbing into her hands. Isaac had an armed wrapped around her. Upon the group's entrance he glanced up. His eyes went wide.

"What happened?" he asked, suddenly standing, going over to inspect Peter.

"I'm infected," Peter said, his voice sounding distant.

"He can't be infected though, we don't know for sure, right Isaac? I mean, you're a doctor, you can help him or like check or something, right?" Micky demanded.

"Micky, why don't you go get something to drink for Peter, that would help me figure this out," Isaac said gently.

Micky stared at Isaac for a moment but then nodded, heading into the kitchen.

"Peter! Peter, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," Heather wailed. One crisis after the next, Isaac thought.

"It's alright Heather, it wasn't your fault," Peter assured Heather.

"I should have heard it before it came up on us, I'm sorry," Heather continued. Peter went over to her and sat down next to her.

"Don't blame yourself Heather, for me," Peter pleaded. Heather looked at him.

"O-okay," she sniffled.

"What do we do Isaac?" Mike asked the older gentleman.

"There's no doubt he's infected," Isaac stated bluntly.

"I know," Mike nodded.

Micky returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Peter. Peter smiled his thanks, taking the water bottle.

"How much time do… do you guys have before I, um… turn or whatever?" Peter asked. It took Isaac by surprise.

"Well… the fever should set in soon, tomorrow probably. That will last for a day and then… then your time is up," Isaac replied. Peter nodded his head, taking a long gulp of water.

"We can do something to help him though, or- or," Micky trailed off. He sat down on the floor.

"Micky, calm down man, we'll figure this out," Mike assured him.

It had been a long while since Mike had seen Micky like this. The fella had always been strong, a reliant support for Mike when he faltered and a stone pillar for Davy and Peter. Seeing him on the floor, on the brink of tears, it was strange.

"Figure it out? Yeah, okay, sure we will Mike," Micky grumbled bitterly. There was a moment of silence after that, save Heather's sniffling.

"You have to kill me," Peter said, breaking the silence finally, "It's okay, I mean, I don't want to turn into one of those things and… hurt anyone, I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Peter, you have some time," Isaac began but Peter shook his head.

"No, waiting will make it worse, it's better to say goodbye quickly, like Ronda said," Peter insisted.

"I can't believe you're talking like that Peter! You can't just give up!" Micky snapped, leaping to his feet, "We can't just let you die, okay!"

"We aren't going to let him die," Isaac said but Micky cut him off.

"Okay then, what're we gonna do? Huh? What are we going to do?" Micky wanted to know, and despite his harsh tone, he really wanted to know.

No one answered immediately. Heather stood up, apologized again to Peter, and then ran upstairs. By that point Davy and Ronda had returned from checking the beach.

"There aren't any other infected around," Ronda announced.

"Peter, are you feeling alright? You look… woozy," Davy inquired, feeling lame for asking such a question in spite of the current situation. It all felt so surreal, as if none of this was really happening.

"Feeling alright? Jesus, he's been infected, he's-," again Micky was at a loss for words, but this time he trailed off into tears.

"Get ahold of yourself Micky, crying won't help," Davy said to his friend as gently as he could.

Micky didn't seem to hear. Davy turned to Isaac.

"Is there anything we can do for him until… he turns?" Davy asked.

"Keep him in bed, give him water, keep him cool," Isaac replied with a shrug.

Mike was about to say something when Peter collapsed. He tried to open his eyes but they wouldn't open all the way. He tried to move, but his body didn't respond. Micky knelt next to him, shaking him by the shoulders. His heart seized for a moment, thinking that maybe this was it, Isaac had been wrong and he was turning now.

But he heard bits of the worried conversation, Isaac saying it was the fever, that it usually hit hard. His body was trying to fight off the virus. Mike voiced his worry about it happening so soon. Peter heard Micky telling Peter he was going to be okay. He saw the pained expression on Mike's face and the unreadable expression on Davy's. How could he have let this happen to them? Then everything faded to black.

Later that night, Mike, Micky, and Davy were having a little meeting in the living room. Isaac and Ronda had gone upstairs to bed. Heather hadn't exited the bedroom yet. Peter was laying on the lounge chair, with pillows and a light blanket draped over him. His brow sheened with sweat.

"I blame myself, I should have yelled at him or something when I noticed he was going down to that damn beach alone," Micky grumbled, knees pulled up to his chest.

"Self-pity won't get us anywhere," Mike pointed out.

"Where are we going?" Davy asked rhetorically.

"We aren't really going… going to kill Peter, are we?" Micky questioned, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

"I dunno man," sighed Mike.

"But we can't let him turn into one of those things though," Davy countered, throwing a glance back at Peter, "He wouldn't want that."

"So which one of us is going to have to point the gun or stab him or whatever? Who's that gonna have to be?" Micky snapped. He shut his eyes for a moment and mumbled an apology.

"You get Ronda to do it," Peter suddenly said. Mike and Micky repositioned themselves so that they formed a circle.

"What are you doing up? Go back to sleep," Mike ordered, standing up for a moment, "Or do you need some tylenol? Isaac said I could give you that for the pain."

"No, sit down," Peter shook his head, "I don't want this conversation left unfinished."

"But… you don't want to…," Micky frowned. He didn't want to talk about this. So if Micky didn't want to talk, how would Peter be feeling about it? Talking about this and know there was no way he was getting out of it?

"I do. I'd like to apologize to you guys," said Peter.

"Apologize? For what?" Davy asked, thoroughly confused.

"For not being there for most of the year. It wasn't fair to any of you. And I'm sorry for this… but I realized what a dope I've been, how selfish I've been and when I saw the chance to save Heather, I knew I needed to take it. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you guys," Peter said at length.

"You don't have to apologize for anything Peter, you were going through stuff man," Micky shrugged.

"No," Peter shook his head, "You all went through stuff too. I have no room to escape the blame."

"Well I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you say it was your fault you got infected," Mike insisted.

"I don't care, you're getting off topic," Peter paused for a moment, "I want you guys to promise me that you'll let Ronda, when the fever's broken, you'll let her take me down to the beach and do it there. And no one but her, I don't want any of you or Heather to see anything."

"Thought you had your mind set on getting it done with early," Mike commented, almost bitter.

"You guys need a little bit of time to say goodbye, I realize that now," Peter stated, "And, anyways, when Ronda's finished, you guys can either bury me or I want you to set my body adrift in the ocean. I don't want you guys to burn my body."

"Okay, I think we can do that," Davy said. He was surprised that he hadn't cried yet. All of this seemed very dream-like and he half expected to wake up soon.

"Now, I want you guys to promise, and I really do mean promise, that you guys will kill me. I don't want you guys to let me turn into one of those things. I'm not going to hurt you or anyone else, more than I already have," Peter stated firmly, looking directly at Micky.

"Hey, why am I getting that look?" Micky sniffled.

"You're all thinking it, just letting me turn, I would be if the situation was reversed, but Davy and Mike aren't gonna back out of my wishes. I know you don't want this to happen Micky, but it has and it will," said Peter.

Micky looked at his feet.

"I know… I just…," he trailed off and rested his head against his knees. Davy wrapped an arm around him.

"We're gonna get through this," Mike assured him, "We promise we'll listen to you Peter."

The four of them spent most of the night talking about this and that. Peter drifted in and out of sleep, Mike giving him some tylenol around 12:30 AM. For the rest of the night and the wee hours of the morning, they didn't discuss what was soon to come. They told random stories that came to mind or reminisced about the past.

By the time the others fell asleep on the living room floor next to Peter, it was four in the morning. There was nothing to say about the rest of the early morning. Davy woke up first, his back cracking loudly as he sat up, due to the awkward position he had fallen asleep in.

"Good morning, Davy," Isaac greeted.

"Hi, Isaac," Davy responded, frowning after a second. There was a grave look on Isaac's face.

"What's wrong?" Davy questioned.

"I believe Peter's fever broke. I didn't expect it to break so soon, but the virus affects everyone differently and plus, it's probably mutated to be faster," Isaac said slowly.

Davy shut his eyes and pushed away the sickening feeling.

"So… does it happen now?" Davy asked.

"I wouldn't wait too long," Isaac confirmed.

Davy nodded. He knelt down next to Mike and shook him awake.

"Mike, we have to say goodbye to Peter," Davy informed him, "But don't wake Micky."

Davy had, last night before he went to sleep, decided that if it was at all possible, he would prevent Micky from knowing anything until after everything had happened. He had divulged his plan to Peter, who had agreed.

"What? I thought… we have another day at least?" Mike frowned, quietly getting to his feet.

"I'm afraid not, I'm sorry," Isaac shook his head.

"We better go get Ronda, get this over with," Mike mumbled, "I'm, uh, I'll be out on the porch for a minute."

Davy decided to go outside with Mike, leaving Isaac to go upstairs to wake Ronda. Unknown to everyone at the time, Heather had been awake and was hiding. And she had a plan. Upon hearing that Peter was probably alone, she revealed herself (she had been hiding in the closet).

She grabbed onto Peter's arms and dragged him over to the bathroom. She leaned him against the tub, draping a warm blanket over him.

"I won't let them hurt you Peter, I promise," she whispered and then she exited the room. She shut the door and took the key to the bathroom she had found in a conveniently labeled box out. Just as she was locking the bathroom door, Isaac and Ronda came down the stairs.

"Fellas? Where's Peter?" Isaac shouted, suddenly alarmed. Mike and Davy ran back inside.

"Oh god," Mike wheezed, unsure if he could handle facing an infected Peter right now.

"It's okay, he's fine," Heather piped up.

"What's happening?" Micky yawned as he sat up, finally awake.

"Heather, what do you mean he's fine?" Mike inquired.

"None of us want to see Peter dead, so I thought we didn't have to. I mean, he'll be safe in the bathroom and as long as we don't open the door or anything, we'll be safe too and he doesn't have to get hurt," Heather explained.

"Heather, did you put Peter in the bathroom?" Ronda demanded.

"We don't need showers or anything, and I gave him a blanket so he won't get cold. He can be safe in there and we can be safe out here and the door locks, there's nothing wrong with it," Heather continued.

"Okay Heather," Isaac began, seeing how hurt Heather was, but Ronda beat him to the punch line.

"Get out of the way, you're being stupid. He won't be Peter soon and we can't keep an infected in the house," Ronda snapped.

"No!" Heather yelled, "None of us want Peter to go, maybe he won't be the same but-" Heather glanced towards Micky, Mike, and Davy as if they were going to help her.

"Heather, c'mon babe, just give Mike the key okay, it's gonna be alright," Micky sniffled.

"Yes, before anyone else gets hurt," Davy added. Mike held out his hand for the key.

"How can you guys do this? Peter never did anything to anyone! I won't let you hurt him, I promised!" Heather sobbed, pressing her back against the bathroom door.

"Heather, you are going to get all of us killed. Infected make noises, lots of noises, that attract other infected," Ronda explained.

"I'm sorry kiddo," Mike mumbled and darted forward, scooping Heather into his arms.

"No, no, no! Put me down! Stop!" Heather shrieked, hitting Mike as hard as she could on the back. Ronda marched forward and kicked the door, once, twice, and then it was laying on the floor.

"No, please, please don't hurt him! Stop! Please!" Heather sobbed. Mike handed her to Micky who immediately wrapped her in a firm hug, keeping her away.

Ronda entered the bathroom.

"He hasn't turned yet, has he?" Isaac asked, realizing just now that Ronda was unarmed.

"No… I don't understand…," Ronda said, walking out of the bathroom, walking out with Peter.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Peter! Let me go!" Heather shouted, trying to bite Micky but not succeeding very well in this endeavour.

"Your fever broke… and well… now you're supposed to be infected?" Isaac said. Peter looked down at himself, a hand going to his forehead.

"I don't feel infected… I have a headache but I don't think that counts," Peter informed them.

"Are you sure his fever broke?" Davy asked, going over to Peter and tugging the taller man down a little so that he could feel Peter's forehead.

"Positive, I wouldn't have risked a false alarm," Isaac assured Davy.

"So, what? He… wasn't infected?" Mike questioned.

"Mike, I was definitely infected," Peter confirmed.

"But then you wouldn't bloody well be here talking with us," pointed out Davy.

"He could be immune," Micky piped up, finally letting go of Heather who ran straight for Peter, nearly tackling him to the floor with a hug.

"Immune…," Ronda echoed, who was staring at Peter with horrified disbelief.

"That would explain it… but no one as far as I know has ever been immune," Isaac pondered, a frown creasing his brow.

"Well there's a first time for everything," Micky chirped, already convinced Peter was immune. Because this meant hope and Micky would cling to it however he could.


	10. Chapter 10

The screams were not close, they were in fact far off in the distance, but Davy was still tense, ready for the infected to appear any moment. Of course, he didn't have much to worry about. Ronda had taught him how to use an iron bar he'd found on an evening round check, and he was with both Ronda and Peter (Ronda carrying her usual bat and Peter reluctantly carrying a pocket knife).

They were out on a supply run. Winter was coming and the usual stores had run out of supplies. This was forcing the group to go further and further out to scavenge supplies. They were about three or four miles away from the pad, Davy and Peter poking around a supermarket that was nearly picked bone thin, with Ronda on the lookout.

The infected numbers were rising as well. Mike predicted that things were going to turn south soon or later, with winter coming and the food running out. And what was long expected has been happening… now the infected seemed to be coming back in numbers.

Scrounging up every last can he could find, Davy wandered back to the front of the store.

"See anything?" he whispered to Ronda.

"No," the woman shook her head.

Davy hopped up onto one of the nearby checkout counters and looked through the bag he was carrying. It wasn't much food.

"Get down," Ronda hissed suddenly, tapping her bat four times against the floor.

Davy hopped off the checkout counter, ducking behind it. Peter came out of an aisle, hurrying quickly over to where Davy was hiding. Ronda pressed herself against the wall, bat at the ready.

They waited, a heavy silence filling the room. Then the door opened. Ronda swung, her bat colliding with the midsection of a woman. The woman stumbled backwards, hunched over, clutching at her stomach. Ronda raised her bat for another hit, but the woman held up a hand.

"Please, stop, wait," she wheezed.

"She's not infected," Ronda announced. Davy and Peter scrambled out from their hiding spot.

"Sorry, are you alright?" Peter asked.

The woman straightened up, looking over the three before her.

"Yes, I'm fine, just a little winded," the woman replied.

"Who the hell are you?" Davy asked, "And what are you doing here?"

He didn't like the look of this woman. She seemed… shifty. There was something about her that made her seem… untrustworthy, although Davy wasn't entirely sure what that something was.

"My name is Doctor Victoria Wilkins, I'm a scientist," the woman answered, "I'm traveling to my facility in Turnersville, Oregon. Thought I would stop in this place and see if there was anything I could pick up."

"Your facility?" Ronda echoed.

"Yes, I'm trying to find a cure. I'm utilizing the church's hospital there. They don't have everything I need, but they have enough to get by with," Dr. Wilkins confirmed.

"There's not much left in the store," Davy stated, "We cleared the last of the stuff out just seconds ago."

"I'm sure I'll find something useful," Dr. Wilkins smiled. For some reason, it gave Davy the willies.

"Well… we best be on our way," Ronda said, glancing at Davy and Peter. From the look exchanged, Davy got the feeling that Ronda didn't think this doctor was trustworthy either.

"Do you have a camp nearby?" Dr. Wilkins questioned.

"We move from place to place," Davy immediately responded.

"I could offer you a place at the church," Dr. Wilkins began, "There's plenty of room and food, and it would be warm for winter."

"We do alright on our own," Ronda informed Wilkins.

"I'm sure you do, but I don't know if you know this, but there's been a migration of infected coming from the north to the south," Dr. Wilkins added.

What was this woman up to? It seemed as if she were trying to sell them this deal. It made both Davy and Ronda feel uncomfortable. It just made Peter feel itchy.

"We do alright by ourselves," repeated Ronda.

"Alright, I'll tell you what. Talk to your group about my offer and come back tomorrow, ready to leave if you decide to take it up. I'll be leaving at around noon, so if you don't show I'll assume that your group decided against coming," Dr. Wilkins said.

"That sounds good," Peter chirped before Ronda or Davy could decline.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, if I see you," Dr. Wilkins grinned. With that finished, Davy, Ronda, and Peter exited the store. They began their trek home.

"What do you think that was about?" Davy asked.

"I'm not sure, but I believe you should take it," Ronda stated. Both Peter and Davy were pretty surprised by this comment.

"Really?" Peter frowned.

"Yes," Ronda confirmed, "I believe you could board up the pad securely enough so that nothing and no one would break in. We go with that doctor woman to this camp or whatever, live off of their supplies for the winter, and then head up to Washington to see if Heather's aunt is still alive before coming back to the pad."

"Live off of their supplies?" Peter echoed.

"It makes sense… Winter's going to be hard and the supplies around here are running low," Davy saw the sense in what Ronda was suggesting.

"Of course, we should inquire about what the others think," said Ronda.

Later that evening, after the meager supper, the topic of what had happened was brought up.

"I believe we should take the offer up on a temporary basis," Ronda concluded.

"But we have a good thing going for us here," Micky pointed out.

"Yeah, I agree!" Heather agreed. Although she did want to go find her aunt and cousin, there was a part of her that didn't. What if they were dead? Or worse, infected?

"We wouldn't be leaving permanently though, we'd come back," Davy reminded the two of them.

"I believe it's a good idea," Isaac voiced "It would give us a chance to look for more supplies, possibly find out about Heather's family, and we could equip better weapons to help us improve our life here at the pad upon our return."

"Well what do you think Mike?" Peter asked, having already stated that he was alright with either staying or leaving.

"I dunno, really… both arguments make sense, I'm just not sure if we should trust this lady. I mean, she said she was tryin' to find a cure, right? So what if she finds out your immune, Peter?" Mike said.

"Peter's immunity would provide a cure, if we found out what made him immune," stated Isaac.

"I could help Dr. Wilkins come up with a cure," Peter beamed.

"You never trust the doctors in science fiction movies," Micky piped up, then glanced at Isaac, "No offense man."

"None taken," Isaac assured Micky.

"Let's take a vote on it I guess," Mike sighed, "Peter can take count since he seems on both sides."

"Okay, all for staying," Peter said.

Micky and Heather both raised their hands in unison.

"Now everyone for leaving," Peter continued.

Ronda and Davy raised their hands immediately. Then Isaac rose his hand into the air. And finally, Mike did as well.

"Guess it seems we're leaving for this church facility," Peter announced.

"Davy, Ronda, we better go see in the morning what wood and stuff we can find so's we can start getting ready to board this place up," Mike instructed, standing up and stretching.

"We only have until noon," Ronda reminded him.

"That means we'll have to all pack tonight," Micky sounded a little bit bummed.

"Man this is such a drag," grumbled Heather.

"Cheer up love, you might get to see some of your family!" Davy said cheerily.

Heather nodded her head, although a part of her still didn't want to. Mike found four backpacks for himself, Micky, Peter, and Davy. Heather, Ronda, and Isaac already had fairly large backpacks that had been unused for quite some time now.

They all packed most of everything they had, which wasn't too much. Everyone had a decent amount of empty space, especially the boys who hadn't traveled much since the early days of the outbreak.

Micky didn't get much sleep. He was worried. The pad was a safe place, a place where they could defend themselves and knew that it worked. If they left, well there was no guarantee that they could still defend themselves. For the first night in a while, Davy slept extremely well. The morning came sooner than usual, it felt that way to the whole gang.

Heather made breakfast while Ronda, Davy, and Mike gathered up material to properly board up the pad. Micky loaded up the Monkeemobile. They had all agreed that it would be best if they took the car. Dr. Wilkins obviously would have some sort of ride of her own.

Mike, Peter, Isaac, and Heather would go with Dr. Wilkins, if she did indeed have a car, while Micky, Ronda, and Davy would travel in the Monkeemobile. Although Ronda had argued that it should be the other way around, Mike and Isaac insisted that this way would be safer.

After breakfast, everyone helped board up the pad and make it look as run down as possible without damaging anything. Davy noticed that Mike and Peter's guitar cases were missing from the patio. He wandered outside and saw Heather shoving the Michael's into the trunk of the Monkeemobile.

"We aren't bringing those babe," Davy informed her. Heather whirled around.

"Oh, oh sorry," Davy chuckled.

"It's okay," Heather quickly assured him, "And I know you guys said we shouldn't bring them… but I figure we can maybe barter with some tunes or something… I don't want you guys not to have them if anything goes wrong. I even stashed your maracas in there."

"Barter with tunes," Davy shook his head smiling, "Alright, I'll give. I think Mike'll really appreciate having his guitar around, even if he says it's just taking up space."

"That's what I thought too," Heather beamed.

"You have all your stuff in your backpack?" Davy questioned.

"Yes, it's been awhile since I've had to use it… it still smells the same, like home," Heather nodded her head.

"Good. Now, come help us finish fixing up the pad," Davy said. Heather nodded again and went inside with Davy.

It was eleven o'clock when everyone was ready. They piled into the Monkeemobile, a cramp fit to say the least, and drove back to the store that Davy, Peter, and Ronda had met Dr. Wilkins. They drove in silence, each one either nervous, excited, or dreading what the future was going to bring next.

Driving was much quicker than walking. Soon they arrived at the store. Mike put the car into park and took the keys out of the ignition.

"Alright, Peter, Isaac and Heather, let's go meet Dr. Wilkins," Mike said, "Micky, I want you driving."

Micky nodded and, after Mike had clambered out, he took Mike's place in the driver's seat. The others exited the car, saying a few last words to the ones who would be staying in the Monkeemobile, and then followed Peter into the store.

Dr. Wilkins was a thin woman, with frizzy greybrown hair pulled back into a ponytail. In the light of solid day, Peter thought she reminded him of an eagle or some other bird of prey.

"I see you and your group talked my offer over ," she directed her words towards Peter.

"We did," Peter confirmed. Mike stepped forward and held out his hand. Dr. Wilkins took it and shook.

"My name's Mike," the Texan introduced himself, "And that's Isaac and Heather, I'm assuming you've already met Peter."

"You sound like you're a bit of a stretch away from home," Dr. Wilkins observed. Mike didn't answer.

"Our other group members are in the car outside," Isaac continued for Mike. Dr. Wilkins peered out of the front window of the store.

"I see… a colourful car," she murmured.

"There's only room for them in it. We had to walk," Heather piped up, saying what Ronda had told her to say.

"That's no problem. I've acquired my own car, that the four of you are welcome to," said Dr. Wilkins as she crouched down behind a cash register and pulled out a large, overstuffed backpack.

Mike spied a small radio in the pocket of the backpack. He thought that interesting and wondered the intentions behind this woman. So far, she seemed nice enough. But he knew better than to trust anyone who gave him a creeping sense of unease.

"We should get going. We're heading to Turnersville, Oregon. It's not too far, I'd estimate about four hours, as long as both of the cars don't sputter out," Dr. Wilkins informed them, heading towards the front doors.

"And then we're going…?" Isaac prompted.

"We're going to Turnersville Church of Faith. That's where I'm taking you. The people there are nice," Dr. Wilkins answered before slipping out the front doors.

The others followed her. Isaac stopped to tell Micky that he was to follow the car Dr. Wilkins was driving. Micky nodded and started up the car. The other four clambered into what they had thought was an abandoned car. Mike sat in the passenger's side up front with Dr. Wilkins, while Isaac, Peter, and Heather sat cramped in the back seat.

The talk in the car was guarded, to say the least. Heather and Peter were quiet, not wanting to give away any information that Dr. Wilkins could use against them, if she turned out to be an enemy and not a friend. What was said was said by Michael and Isaac.

Dr. Wilkins inquired about their rooming situations, their food supply, how the group had come together. Before they had left, Davy had let everyone know that he had told Dr. Wilkins that they moved from place to place, and so they would stick with that story.

If anyone asked, Heather was Micky's niece. They had all lived in California at least a year before the outbreak occurred and were relatively friends before as well. They went from place to place, trying to stay safe, and were trying to make their way to the coast.

That was the story they had all agreed upon.

And so Mike and Isaac carefully answered Dr. Wilkins's questions, still keeping a guarded sense even to their made up story so as to make it seem more real. Dr. Wilkins answered the few questions that Isaac and Mike asked in return, although there wasn't much information to gather from the answers.

Eventually both Peter and Heather fell asleep, Peter's head resting on Isaac's left shoulder and Heather's head resting on his right. Mike made a point to remember as much as he could of the way Dr. Wilkins was taking them, knowing that the others in the Monkeemobile were (hopefully) doing the same thing.

And they were. Micky and Davy talked at length about different things, random and meaningless, but they did take note on the way they were going. Ronda did as well, although she took the hours to sleep rather than talk or pay attention.

In the end it did take around four hours to get to the town. They had left sometime around noon, 12:03 or something, and when they arrived in Turnersville it was 4:06 in the evening. The town looked dead. Windows were busted in almost every store and most of the homes they passed were boarded up and empty.

Dr. Wilkins navigated the roads and it seemed with each turn the Monkeemobile got further and further behind. This didn't bother anyone, that was until a woman on a bicycle peddled into the road and stood there, causing Micky to veer right to avoid hitting her.

Micky got the wind knocked out of him and Davy was bleeding from a small abrasion he had received from his head colliding with the passengers side window. As Micky got air back into his lungs, he watched as the car holding Peter, Mike, Isaac, and Heather continued on and disappeared around a bend. He swore loudly, unbuckling himself.

"Is everyone alright?" Davy asked, hand going to his head.

"We have to get after them," Micky grumbled, putting the car into reverse.

"Look," Ronda stopped him, pointing towards the woman who had nearly caused them an accident.

She had pulled her bike off to the side and was heading towards the Monkeemobile. She was unarmed, something all three of them thought strange.

"We should see what she's up too," Davy suggested, "The others are probably far ahead by now, I mean might as well."

Micky still wasn't sure about that but it didn't look like he had much of a choice because the woman was already knocking on the driver's side window. Micky rolled the window down.

"Are you guys alright?" she asked. It was a question Micky hadn't expected.

"Yes, we're fine," Davy piped up.

"Good, I'm sorry about nearly killing you guys," the woman apologized, "I'm Tara. I'm assuming you were heading to the church, right?"

"How did you know?" Ronda questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Saw Dr. Wilkins in the front seat of that other car. She's been taking people to the church for so long now, it's so sad. That church might have once belonged to God but not it's for the devil," Tara answered.

"For the devil?" Micky echoed, a frown creasing his brow.

"The church goers who are still surviving within the walls of the church, the ones that Dr. Wilkins has… aligned with I guess, they don't like strangers very much. They think this is the rapture and they are awaiting the anti-christ. A lot of the strangers Dr. Wilkins brings home… they die," Tara explained.

Micky got a sinking feeling in his stomach when Tara said 'die'.

"How do you know this?" Ronda wondered.

"My brother, George, and I, we were in a rock and a hard place couple of months back. Dr. Wilkins found us, offered us safety at the church. But when we got there, we were herded into this basement where some other people were. We found out they were using the people Dr. Wilkins brought back to lure away infected from the town. That's why it's so empty," Tara informed the trio.

"Oh god," Micky groaned and he rested his head against the steering wheel. Mike, Peter, Heather, and Isaac were walking right into a trap.


	11. Chapter 11

Heather eventually woke up. Peter was still asleep, head still resting upon Isaac's shoulder. Dr. Wilkins was still trying to get information out of Mike and Isaac, although the conversation seemed more relaxed than it had before Heather fell asleep.

"And it seems like all of you have faired pretty well," Dr. Wilkins was saying, "I mean, with dealing with the infected."

"We were until Peter got attacked, but we found out he was immune so it was okay," Heather answered, absentmindedly and automatic.

As soon as she realized what she had said, she paled and nearly began to babble but Isaac grabbed her hand and gave it a warning squeeze. She looked at him and he shook his head, telling her to just let it be.

"... Immune?" Dr. Wilkins echoed, a frown creasing her brow.

No one made a response. Mike was waiting for what Dr. Wilkins would say next, Isaac was waiting for Mike to indicate what to do, and Heather was hiding her face, feeling stupid beyond belief.

"Does your friend Peter know he could be the key to making a cure?" Wilkins finally asked.

"Yeah, he sure does. He brought it up when we were deciding to come," Mike confirmed. Dr. Wilkins nodded and continued to drive in silence. Mike was unsure of what to make of it.

Dr. Wilkins parked along side a hospital, although in reality it was just a square concrete building. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and unlocked the doors. Everyone clambered out, straightening their backpacks out on their backs.

"Where'd the other car go?" Mike asked upon seeing no sign of the Monkeemobile or the others for that matter.

Mike thought this all a little fishy and he was still waiting for Dr. Wilkins to confront Peter about his immunity.

"They must have taken a wrong turn, but don't worry, I'll tell Father Carl and he'll send someone out to go find your pals," Dr. Wilkins assured them.

Heather grabbed onto Isaac's hand, squeezing it tight. Isaac squeezed gently back, giving Heather a quick, reassuring smile. Heather felt horrible.

"Come on inside. We'll get you guys settled and then I'll go talk to Father Carl," Dr. Wilkins said and lead them inside.

The inside of the hospital did look like one on the inside, although it was apparent that some of the hallways had been converted into living areas. Wilkins lead them down a corridor and then stopped in front of a young woman with flowing golden hair.

"Rachel, can you show these folks to a room? I have to go talk with Father Carl," Dr. Wilkins asked. Rachel looked up and smiled.

"Of course, please follow me," Rachel said. Dr. Wilkins turned to the foursome.

"Follow Rachel and I'll be back soon. Then you can meet Father Carl. I'll be sure to tell him to send someone out to look for your friends, although they aren't in any danger," Dr. Wilkins told them.

"No danger?" Peter frowned.

"There aren't any infected around the area," Rachel informed them as she lead them down another hallway, leaving Dr. Wilkins to disappear into an adjacent room.

"How did you get that to happen?" Mike inquired.

"They just stopped coming around, I'm not really sure," admitted Rachel, before glancing at Heather and asking, "How old are you?"

"I'm nineteen," Heather replied, a bit reluctantly.

"Jane's seventeen and Sandy's nineteen, you'll have to be introduced," Rachel grinned. Heather forced a smile. Rachel stopped in front of a door and opened it to reveal a neat room with two beds, a closet, and another door that would lead to a bathroom.

"You've just missed dinner but you can eat breakfast in the morning," Rachel commented.

"It's alright, thank you," Isaac smiled and Rachel and shook her hand.

"Feel free to make yourself at home. Dr. Wilkins should be back soon," said Rachel before walking away, down the hall.

Mike placed his backpack beside the bed that was pushed up against the left wall. He sat down and took off his wool hat, holding it in his hands.

"I'm real sorry I told the doctor that Peter was immune," Heather apologized.

"Dr. Wilkins knows I'm immune? Thought we weren't telling anyone yet," Peter frowned.

"Heather accidently let it slip, but it's alright," Mike said. Heather flopped down onto the opposite bed and Isaac sat down next to her.

"What do you think about this place? Should we try to go out and find the others ourselves?" Isaac asked Michael.

"It's fishy here. This whole town is. No infected? That's definitely weird. But we aren't gonna go looking for Davy, Micky, and Ronda. There's a reason we split up like we did," Mike answered, "We're gonna stay here, find out what's going on, and hope the others are coming to get us. I gotta hunch they'll be comin' for us. So unless something goes real south, we're gonna stay put."

"Do you trust these people?" Peter questioned, looking at the door to their new room.

"Infected are one thing, but people in an extreme situation are unpredictable, making them sometimes more dangerous than the virus," Isaac murmured, "I believe they are hiding something."

"I only hope it isn't something bad… I don't want anything bad to happen to us again," Heather whimpered.

"We're gonna be just fine, Heather," Mike assured her, although he didn't know for sure. He had a bad feeling about this place, and by the look Isaac was giving him, Mike guessed Isaac felt it too.

"I just hope that Micky, Davy, and Ronda will be alright," Peter sighed.

In fact, Davy, Micky, and Ronda were perfectly fine. Tara took the driver's seat, Davy getting into the back so that Micky could sit in the passenger's side. She drove them to an small apartment complex before parking along the curb.

She lead them upstairs to the second floor and knocked five times upon the fourth door in the hallway. At first, nothing happened and the foursome stood in the hallway quietly.

Then, the door opened to reveal a young man, who looked only a little older than Peter. This must be George. He had darker skin than his sister's, whose skin was tan, and dark hair that fell around his shoulders. His left arm ended at the elbow.

"Who're they?" George asked, looking from Davy, to Ronda, and finally to Micky.

"I stopped these guys from getting dragged to the church," Tara responded, pushing past George and into the apartment. George held the door open a bit wider for the trio to follow inside.

"Oh, that's good. Hello, I'm George," George formally introduced himself. Micky, Ronda, and Davy introduced themselves likewise.

"Your sister tells us that there isn't any hope for our friends, you were taken to the church," Davy began after introduction had passed, "All we ask is that you show us where the church is and let us see about freeing our friends."

"Friends?" George frowned. They had moved from the front hallway and into a living room where they sat down.

"We got seperated from our group. We're a group of seven," Ronda explained, "Dr. Wilkins was taking us to the church and us three were in a separate car. We must help our friends."

"Of course we will help you," George immediately assured them.

"Oh no. No, we are not George," Tara countered. George gave her a serious look.

"Tara, we can't just not help. You don't have to, but I am, and you can't stop me, you aren't mom," George stated. Tara rolled her eyes and got up, disappearing from the room. George looked back at Ronda, Davy, and Micky.

"We don't mean to make any trouble," Micky mumbled.

"It's okay, Tara's always like that," George assured them, "Even if she won't help I will."

"But you've only just met us," Ronda pointed out.

George ran his hand through his hair before standing up. He told the trio to wait a moment and disappeared.

"Can we trust them?" Micky asked, his voice hushed so that Tara and George wouldn't be able to hear him.

"I'm not sure, but if what they're telling us is true, then I don't see much of a choice," Davy admitted.

"I agree. At any rate, we must get back to the others, nonetheless," Ronda nodded her head.

"Geewhiz," Micky sighed and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes.

A few minutes later, George returned with Tara. The two sat down across from Ronda, Micky, and Davy.

"We're going to help you," Tara grumbled, sounding like a twelve year old whose mother was making them play with someone they didn't particularly like.

"Because…," prompted George, nudging Tara in the ribcage with his elbow.

"Because, we are good people and want to earn your trust so that we can join your group," Tara said this whilst glaring at George, who was grinning in return.

"Good," he turned to the trio, "How does that sound fellows?"

"It sounds alright," Davy shrugged, glancing at Ronda to see what she thought. Ronda shrugged as well.

"I understand your reluctance to trust us, especially after Dr. Wilkins, but let us prove that we're the good guys, okay?" said George.

"I don't see why not," Ronda agreed, "If what you say is true, then it isn't as if we have many other options."

"Okay, well, we should start planning, we'll have to act tomorrow night, so that we don't get there too late," George said, "Let's talk about guns."

Back at the church, Dr. Wilkins entered Father Carl's office. The older gentleman was sitting in a chair, resting his head in his hands.

"Father Carl?" Dr. Wilkins spoke softly.

"Ah, hello doctor," Father Carl smiled as he looked up. He gestured towards a chair near him and said, "Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Dr. Wilkins perched on the edge of the seat which Father Carl had indicated.

"I wanted to ask you not to harm any of the people I brought with me today. Not even if they're completely useless," Dr. Wilkins began, "Because one of them, the tallish one, blonde, named Peter, he's immune, at least that's what the girl said."

Father Carl's brows knitted together.

"Immune?" he sounded the word out as if it were in some foreign language.

"Yes, we can test it too. If he is immune, we can… make a cure Father," Dr. Wilkins nodded her head, tears almost stinging her eyes.

"We won't harm those you brought today," Father Wilkins said after a moment, "I want you to go fetch Dan and test the immune one before evening tomorrow. We must act fast, if not for your own sake doctor, but ours as well. Test the immunity tonight and then we will begin work for a cure."

Dr. Wilkins wiped away a few tears that had trickled down her face.

"Yes, of course Father, thank you, thank you so much," Dr. Wilkins sniffled, then composed herself.

"I will go inform Yaseen and Kris," Father Carl stood up, Dr. Wilkins quickly following suit.

Micky sat between Davy and Ronda, his leg bouncing up and down. George sat across from them as they waited for Tara.

"We only were able to collect a few, two pistols, two revolvers, and a shotgun," George said as Tara brought out the weapons, "The ammo that's in 'em is the ammo we've got. We don't have anything else."

"When this goes down, I'm taking the shotgun, it belongs to me anyhow," Tara informed Davy, Ronda, and Micky.

"I have my bat. It's all I need," Ronda stated.

"Then Micky and Davy can have one pistol and one revolver each," said George, "Do you guys know how to handle a firearm?"

Micky said, "A little", and Davy said, "Yes", both at the same time. Micky glanced at Davy.

"I didn't know you knew?" he frowned.

"Mike taught me six months back," Davy shrugged, blushing a little.

"On his handgun?" Micky questioned. Davy nodded.

"How come he never taught me?" wondered Micky.

"You never asked… I did," Davy answered.

"Well good, nobody will be shooting themselves in the foot then," Tara rolled her eyes.

"So we'll just have to be careful and find your friends as quickly as possible," George grinned, "And we'll bring our car and your car, so everyone will be able to fit and then we'll get the hell out of dodge."

"It sounds like a fine plan," Davy agreed.

"Ok well… it's late and we should all get some sleep," Ronda pointed out.

"I'm beat," George agreed, "Tara, go get them some blankets, they can sleep out here."

George said goodnight after that and wandered away, presumably into the bedroom. Tara disappeared temporarily and then returned with a stack of knitted blankets. She handed them to Micky.

Before anyone could thank her however, Tara shooed the trio off the couch. Pushing the coffee table a little more out of the way, she pulled out a bed. The couch was a pullout.

"You can keep the blankets. Might as well take them along with us," she mumbled before adding a hasty goodnight and then disappeared again, this time for good.

"Will you two be offended if I sleep on the chair?" Ronda questioned.

"Well, no man, but we don't want you not sleeping comfortably," Micky answered.

"You're a good guy Micky, but I will be much more comfortable sleeping in a chair," Ronda smiled and settled down.

Micky and Davy clambered into the pullout bed, Davy grabbing ahold of Micky's left hand as soon as they were settled. There was a moment of silence that filled the room. From an adjacent room, presumably the bedroom, the trio could hear Tara and George softly whispering to one another.

"Do you really think people have the guts to use other people as… bait or whatever?" Micky asked a minute or two later.

"You boys haven't had much exposure to how things have been," Ronda pointed out, "People look out for themselves most times. Just like you have done, but sometimes people'll do extreme things because they think it's the only way."

"It's still sick," muttered Davy, cringing with disgust.

"Yes, it's still sick," agreed Ronda.

"I hope we don't have to use the guns," Davy mumbled.

"We should aim to not," Ronda said, "Only use them as a last ditch effort. I'm not a fan of firearms, which is why I'll just be sticking with my trusty bat."

"We're going to save the guys, and then we're going home," Micky stated, almost as if he was thinking aloud to himself.

"Sure Micky, we talk it over with others and we'll head on home," Davy replied, although he wasn't entirely sure if he was supposed to.

"If it is not too much of a stretch, may I sing to you boys?" Ronda asked after a long two minutes of silence.

"That'd be lovely," Davy smiled softly to himself, giving Micky's hand a squeeze.

"Yeah man, go right ahead," Micky agreed.

"I used to sing to my two boys every night you know," Ronda reminisced, "There names were Victor and Andy. They were good kids."

"How old were they?" Micky asked.

"Five and three, Victor being the oldest," answered Ronda.

"They sound like angels," Davy offered. Ronda smiled to herself and then began to sing. Her voice was rough, but pleasant, a lower octave than what Davy and Micky had expected. The song was unknown to both of them, although they enjoyed it.


	12. Chapter 12

Heather was asleep on the bed. There wasn't much to do around here. The food here was good, in some ways Mike was glad they had come and would have relaxed a bit if it weren't for the feeling of unease that still plagued him.

It was evening time. Isaac was talking with Peter quietly. Mike could only catch snippets of words. Mike sat next to Heather's sleeping form. They were waiting. Waiting for rescue or waiting for something bad to happen here, Mike wasn't sure, but they were waiting for something.

There was a knock on the door. Mike got up and opened it. Dr. Wilkins stood in the threshold, smiling broadly. It looked terribly forced.

"Hiya," Mike greeted uncertainly, a frown creasing his brow.

"Good afternoon," Wilkins returned the greeting. She peered into the room.

"Can we help you?" Isaac asked, standing at this point.

"Well, yes, I'd like to talk to Peter privately," Dr. Wilkins answered.

"About what?" Mike pressed.

"His immunity," Dr. Wilkins said. Her smile disappeared for a moment as she glared at Michael.

"Okay, sounds good to me," Peter piped up, hopping to his feet and walking over to the door, despite the foreboding feeling that had settled in his stomach the moment Mike had opened the door to reveal Dr. Wilkins.

Mike grabbed his elbow, holding onto Peter. Dr. Wilkins continued to smile.

"Isaac can come with the two of you," Mike stated, refusing to break eye contact with Dr. Wilkins.

"That won't be necessary. I'm only going to talk with him for twenty minutes tops," Dr. Wilkins promised, although both she and Mike knew she was lying, although Mike was not sure her true motives while Wilkins knew exactly what she had up her sleeve.

"Mike, it's okay," Peter said, gently prying Mike off of himself, "I'll be right back."

Mike chewed on his bottom lip for a moment but nodded. Peter turned to Dr. Wilkins and side-stepped past Mike so that he was outside the room. He waved at Mike and Isaac, but only Isaac waved back. Mike didn't like this at all, not one bit.

Dr. Wilkins lead Peter along a similar hallway to the one she had led the group down yesterday. Peter was unsure if he should attempt to talk to Dr. Wilkins, maybe figure some things out if he could.

The foreboding feeling was slowly churning in his stomach though, and made him second guess conversation. A young man in a white lab coat appeared out of a side door. He looked at Peter, then to Dr. Wilkins.

"Dr. Wilkins, can I help you?" he asked. Dr. Wilkins grinned and clapped the man on his shoulder.

"Just the man I wanted to see. Follow us. Peter, this is Dan. Dan is my assistant here," Dr. Wilkins introduced him.

Peter held out his hand, assuming that Dan would want to shake hands, but Dan paled and scooted away from Peter. Peter thought this odd but didn't put much credit to the action.

"We should get going, Dr. Wilkins, if we're doing this now. Yaseen and Kris are waiting. Father Carl's growing impatient," Dan said to Wilkins in a hushed voice.

"Of course, let's go," Dr. Wilkins nodded.

The pace was sped up and Peter did his best to try to find landmarks so that if he needed to make a bolt for it back to where Mike, Heather, and Isaac were he could find his way, but the hallways all looked the same. White wall paper with tiled floors, sometimes carpet. There was hardly ever a variation.

Then Dr. Wilkins took a sudden right and the hallway changed dramatically. The walls were concrete, grey and drab, the floor the same. It gave Peter the shivers. They approached the end of the hallway, which ended in a bolted door. An older woman, Yaseen, and a middle-aged man, Kris, stood before the door.

"Finally, it took you long enough. Father Carl-," Yaseen began to say but Wilkins finished for her.

"Is growing impatient, I know," she mumbled before turning to Peter.

"Alright, are you ready?" she asked, smiling a wolf's smile.

"I'm confused, what does any of this have to do with anything?" Peter questioned, staring at the door. There was a distant, quiet moaning coming from behind it.

"Well Peter, we have to test that you're truly immune. It's highly important you know. Then we can examine your body as it fights off the virus, to better understand what makes you different than the rest of us," Dr. Wilkins answered.

Peter's heart seized up, realizing what had to be behind that door and realizing what Dr. Wilkins was planning. He didn't want to get infected again, not if he could help it. Plus, study him? How would they study him?

He turned around to start to run away but Kris was right there behind him.

"Sorry buddy," Kris mumbled, looking sincerely apologetic.

He turned Peter back around and held onto his arms.

"It'd be best if you don't fight, I don't envy you," Kris murmured into Peter's ear.

"Please, what are you going to do to me?" Peter nearly wailed, trying to worm his way out of Kris's grip.

"Dr. Wilkins, do your thing," Yaseen snapped as she pulled out a ring of keys and picked one out.

Wilkins gave Yaseen an unsavoury look and disappeared for a moment. Peter strained his neck to see where she had gone, to see what she was doing, but Kris kept him tight in his grip, keeping him forward.

Yaseen began to unlock the bolts that were on the door. Peter hadn't noticed them until now. His heart was trying to claw out of his ribcage. Dr. Wilkins returned. In her hand was a syringe. Peter's eyes went wide. He didn't necessarily like needles.

"No! What- stop! Mike! Isaac! Michael!" Peter began shouting, hoping beyond hope that Mike or Isaac or Heather would hear him. In the back of his mind, he knew shouting wouldn't help.

"Now Wilkins!" snapped Yaseen. She was nearing the final lock.

Dr. Wilkins quickly stepped over to Peter, who continued to shout and lash out as best he could. Kris manipulated Peter so that his neck was exposed and Dr. Wilkins's shirt obscured nearly everything in Peter's sight. He felt a painful prick in his neck.

A few moments after Dr. Wilkins stepped back, Peter's vision began to swim. Drugs. Morphine or something. A sedative. That's what was now in his system. He had to fight, had to get away.

"Michael… please… I can't, please I don't wanna," Peter pleaded.

"He won't feel anything now?" Kris asked, his grip loosening.

Peter tried to escape then but, although Kris was now merely keeping him upright, he couldn't get away.

"Yes, not a thing, as long as we-," Dr. Wilkins's voice drifted further and further away as if Peter were traveling down a tunnel.

Peter fell down the tunnel, trying to demand his mouth move, his legs move, but to no avail. The last thing Peter saw was Yassen opening the door. A small infected boy was chained to the wall.

Micky, Davy, and Ronda had followed George and Tara in the Monkeemobile. There hadn't been any trouble on the drive to the church. As they parked, the place seemed almost abandoned, excluding the lights that were on of course. The plan was that George was going to keep an eye on the cars while the others went inside.

Depending on how long it took them, Davy would be dispatched to go back and start the Monkeemobile to get everything ready for a quick getaway. So Davy, Micky, Ronda, and Tara exited their respective cars and entered the building, no problem. Tara had predicted this. No one really was around to attack the church.

They each were equipped with two of the firearms that Tara and George had, all except George himself and Ronda, who refused to take one. Micky felt weird with it in hand, felt weird knowing he might have to fire it or something.

Tara was indifferent. She wanted to get this over with. All of this was for George, in case something happened to her. And finally, Davy was mad. Through his anger, he knew that he was going to do just about anything to get his friends out of here, with no harm done to them.

"Okay, just follow me. There are a couple of rooms they kept me and George in so your friends might be," Tara whispered.

"Hopefully," Ronda muttered under her breath.

Tara lead them quietly down a few hallways, turning left then right. It was oddly quiet, easier than any of them had expected. Where was everyone? Then a young woman exited a room and stared, wide-eyed, at the group.

"W-what are you doing here?" she stammered.

Tara leveled her weapon at the woman, who paled.

"Where are the visitors? The ones you're going to kill?" Tara demanded.

"Room 25. Please," the woman breathed, her forehead breaking out into a sweat.

The group broke out into a jog. Davy noted that the woman had scurried away, just as they had all turned their backs. Probably off to go alert someone. They needed to hurry. Room 23, room 24, finally they reached room 25.

Davy opened the door. Tara and Ronda were going to watch the ends of the hall. Inside, Mike was mid-pace. His eyes went wide when he saw Davy and Micky.

"Jeez guys, took y'all long enough," he grumbled, but quickly gave both Micky and Davy a hug.

"What are the weapons for?" Isaac asked.

"This place is bad and we have to get out of here right now," Davy explained. He looked around the room and then asked, "Where's Peter?"

"Huh? Micky!" Heather exclaimed as she woke up, finally.

She hopped up and nearly tackled Micky, then Davy. Isaac pried her away from the two of them.

"Peter went with Dr. Wilkins, to start looking for a cure," Isaac answered.

"That means she's told Father Carl about him, they're going to kill him soon, if he's not already dead," Tara piped up, sticking her head into the room.

"Who's she?" Mike asked.

"A friend, it's fine, look Micky, switch with me but follow the plan. Take them and Tara back to the cars, get ready. Isaac and I will go on, with Ronda watching our backs," Davy instructed.

Micky nodded and then took Heather's hand. Mike, Micky, Heather, and Tara then headed back towards the front.

"You don't happen to know where they took Peter?" Davy asked.

Isaac shook his head. Davy headed out of the room. Isaac followed closely at his heels and Ronda watched their backs, staying behind a foot or two. A group of four men appeared in front of them suddenly.

"Freeze!" one of them shouted, holding up a gun.

Davy rushed the leader, taking his legs out and bowling him into one of his companions. Ronda swooped in and helped take out another one. The last one, Davy pulled up and pushed back against the wall.

"Where's Peter? The immune guy?" Davy demanded, making sure the guard knew the weapon Davy had on him.

"I-I swear, I don't know," the man answered, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to let you do this to him," Davy barked and then slammed the butt of the firearm in his hand into the shoulder of the guard.

He cried out and Davy hit him again.

"Speak," Davy prompted.

"The door! The left door, down the hall make a right. It's the operating room. Y-you can't miss it okay!" the guard squeaked.

Davy hit him once more and then broke away, quickly making his way down the hallway. Isaac and Ronda exchanged worried glances, although Ronda was less concerned considering. In this past twenty-four hours or so, she had learned a lot about Davy and Micky. In turn, they had learned a lot about her as well.

Isaac saw this as unusually uncharacteristic but Ronda understood that Davy's need to save his friend. She herself was willing to use force to help him. The trio followed the directions that the guard had given Davy and soon Isaac pointed to a pair of swing doors.

"I'm guessing this is what he meant by the operating room," he murmured.

Ronda entered first and it opened into an almost barren room, except for the table that dominated the center of the room. Sprawled on the table was Peter. It seemed that the trio was walking in at an awkward moment.

An older gentleman who was clearly a priest was standing in an opposite doorway. Dr. Wilkins was being restrained by a bulky man as a petite woman walked towards Peter with a syringe. Dr. Wilkins was crying, saying how they couldn't do this, not now, not when a cure was right in front of their faces.

"The anti-christ must die, Dr. Wilkins, it is the only way we shall repent for our sins," the priest was saying just as the trio entered the room.

Dr. Wilkins's eyes locked upon them and she screamed, "Please! Stop them, don't let them kill him! My boy, he needs him!"

There was a terrifying moment of silence then suddenly a gunshot went off. Isaac jumped backward, the bulky man holding Dr. Wilkins flinched and let her go. She rushed forward and wrenched the petite woman with the syringe away from Peter.

"Don't you dare touch him!" Davy warned as Dr. Wilkins neared Peter's unconscious body.

It had been him who had fired the gun and now he had it aimed in the direction of Wilkins, although his hand was shaking too much for him to be a good shot. Dr. Wilkins held up her hands, holding them high above her head.

"Please, you must let me work on him. I need this cure. My son, he needs it," Wilkins pleaded.

"I don't care," Davy said flatly.

"Davy, let's just… all calm down," Isaac suggested.

Ronda shook her head and stepped forward, just in time to dart across the room to meet the bulky man who had held Dr. Wilkins. He was aiming to tackle Davy to the floor. Ronda swung her bat and the tip connected with the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor.

The priest began shouting and disappeared through the back door. The gun was fired again. Ronda only heard it. A second later, Dr. Wilkins was sobbing on the floor, cradling the arm that the bullet had grazed.

"Isaac, grab Peter, we must leave now, they'll be upon us," snapped Ronda.

She quickly went over to Davy and placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her and between them, she knew he was alright.

"I'll watch our backs, keep the front clear, Isaac will stay in the middle," Davy said to her.

Ronda nodded her agreement. Isaac quickly scooped Peter into his arms and then they made their way through the hallways, backtracking to the front doors. There wasn't any trouble on the way back, although Davy was ready to fire a warning shot if need be at any moment.

Once they made it outside, George honked the horn, a warning sign for them to hurry up. Tara was in the Monkeemobile with Mike at the wheel and Heather in the back. This left Ronda to go clamber into the back seat with her.

Isaac and Davy scrambled into the car George was driving, Micky sitting in the passenger's side. Bullets began to spew out of the church opening, towards the cars. George stepped on the gas and Mike followed. In the back seat, Isaac began to check Peter.

"He should be alright. I think the fever has passed too. He's just been drugged," Isaac reported.

"No harm done or anything?" Micky asked.

"No, not that I can see," Isaac replied.

"Where are we going?" Davy asked George.

"Outta town. Can't be staying here. We're gonna be in for some trouble though. The area round here is crawling with infected thanks to them," came George's reply.

There was silence for a long moment. Then Isaac asked, "Davy, are you feeling alright?"

Davy raised an eyebrow at Isaac.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?" he answered.

"Well…," Isaac began but didn't exactly know how to phrase his words, "You were quite heated back at the church."

"Davy wasn't heated, just dramatic. Did you know, Isaac, that soap operas are Davy's speciality?" Micky joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"At least I have some taste," Davy retorted, a thin smile on his face.

"I see, well you were quite good at fighting," Isaac chuckled, a frown creasing his brow.

In the car behind, Mike was pressing Ronda to know what had happened.

"Peter is alright. Davy, I, and Isaac arrived just in time," Ronda reassured him.

"I can't believe I let that happen. He could have died," Michael mumbled to himself.

"Look man, you didn't know anything about what was going on. Jeez, your friends didn't either until my brother and I told them," Tara offered.

She liked Mike already. Maybe it was the almost naive sense she got from Micky and Davy, or maybe she just liked the looks of Nesmith, but Tara thought that this was someone she could trust her life to. Of course Mike still had no opinion on her or George, considering there hadn't been much of a chance for serious introductions.

"Well I gotta make sure," said Mike, "Ya think we're far enough to stop for a minute or something?"

"As long as we only stop for a minute or something, sure," Tara replied.

Mike flashed the headlights. George saw this and frowned. He wasn't entirely sure what Mike wanted.

"Pull over, he's asking to stop," Micky chimed in just at the right moment.

"Oh, I thought it was a warning. Okay," George sighed and pulled off the road, parking near a little cluster of trees.

Mike pulled over as well, putting the Monkeemobile in park behind George. After taking the keys out of the ignition and shoving them into his pocket, he clambered out of the car. Heather bundled out, wanting to see the guys again. She had been filled in on what had happened while she had been asleep.

Ronda and Tara also followed, neither wanting to miss out on any sort of discussion that might follow. Micky got out of the car and gave Heather a hug. The back doors had been opened by Davy and Isaac.

"Is Pete okay?" Mike asked, trying to see if Peter had been harmed.

With the lights on Isaac noticed the slight bruising on Peter's arms and the scratches around his neck. He had definitely been infected, although it must have passed considering Isaac could not feel any temperature or high fever.

"He's roughed up a tiny bit, but he's fine," Isaac answered.

"They were going to kill him," Davy said, "How can anyone be so… so stupid? Mean."

"Well, we gotta just figure out what we're gonna do now," came Mike's response.

"We should go back to the pad, back to California," Heather pouted, wrapping Micky's arms closer around her.

She was cold, it was quite cold out. And she wanted to go home, which was at this point the pad.

"We're close to Washington, aren't we? We could go see Heather's relatives, like we planned," Isaac suggested.

"That would take at least two days," Tara guessed.

"I just want to go home," Heather whined.

"Don't worry Heather, we're gonna be just fine, whether we go or not," Micky reassured her.

"Alright. Let's take a vote, like we did before. Tara would you like to count?" Davy piped up.

"Why me?" inquired Tara, surprised that it would be her to count the votes.

"Well, unless you are strongly in favour of one of the options, then you're the newest member I suppose and you might as well, unless you do not want to," Davy shrugged.

"Alright, I'll count," Tara agreed after a moment.

"Okay, we're voting for going to Washington or going back to the pad, which for reference is in California Tara and George," Mike repeated for the benefit of everyone.

"Um, alrighty, so all those in favour of going to California?" Tara asked.

Heather's hand shot straight into the air. Micky also raised his hand, although he felt more neutral than anything else. This was the same thing George felt, although more strongly, yet he felt that going back to their home base would help integrate himself and his sister more than the second option.

No one else raised their hand.

"All those in favour of going to Washington?" Tara continued.

Isaac raised his hand, alongside Ronda. They both thought it would be good for Heather to find out what happened to her aunt and cousin, no matter what awaited her. It would be good for closure. Mike's hand joined them and finally Davy did as well.

It was obvious which side had won.

"Well, going to California wins," Tara announced.

"We'll have to stop sometime tomorrow if we drive all night," Mike pointed out.

"We should stop somewhere soon. It's worse to travel at night," Ronda rumbled.

"Isn't there a motel a little ways up the road Tara?" George questioned.

"I think so, yea," answered Tara, "I guess we could stop there, if it's all clear."

"That sounds like the best plan ever," Micky grinned.

"Micky, will you come in the car with me?" Heather pleaded.

"How about Micky and I switch with Mike and Ronda? I'm sure that'd work for everyone," Davy suggested.

It did work. Mike was eager to be with Peter, having been so worried, although he would be more relaxed when they all stopped and his three friends could be in his sight at the same time.

The quiet of the night settled in as they drove. Heather fell asleep, her head resting on Micky's shoulder. Micky and Davy talked quietly so as not to disturb the young girl. They didn't talk about anything important, just random retellings of older stories and the possibility of writing a new song, something neither of them had discussed in awhile.

Tara fell asleep, her head rested against the passenger's side window. Mike was holding onto Peter's hand. He had made Isaac tell him everything that had happened. The fact that Davy had nearly shot someone unnerved Michael. This was a new side of Davy, not necessarily a bad one of course. If it had been Mike, he probably would have done the same exact thing.

Yet it still didn't settle well in Mike's stomach. It should have been him protecting them. He held onto Peter's hand and the two cars silently sped down the road. About ten minutes later, Peter jerked forward, screaming. Isaac grabbed ahold of him, pushing him backwards.

"Don't hurt me!" Peter wailed.

"Peter it's okay!" Isaac assured him swiftly.

"You're safe Pete," Mike added.

Peter gazed around, taking deep breathes. After a moment, he leaned his head back against the seat and shut his eyes.

"My head hurts an awful lot," he mumbled.

"They had you on some heavy sedatives," Isaac informed him, "Is there anything else that feels wrong or hurts?"

"No, just my headache," Peter replied, "How'd…. how'd we get here?"

Mike and Isaac caught Peter up to speed, introducing George and Tara as well. It was convenient that Davy had suggested the car switch.

"We're coming up on the motel," George announced.

"Good, I think we could all use some rest," Isaac sighed. Mike was quick to agree. They all deserved a nice rest after everything that had happened.

Maria, Zak, and Yaseen stood in Father Carl's office, silently waiting for the Father to enter. After what had happened last night, they had been sent for.

The anti-christ and his companions had escaped. An injured Dr. Wilkins had also disappeared during the commotion and her car was missing. Presumably, she had left in search for the anti-christ.

The door opened and Father Carl entered the room. He hobbled over to his desk chair and lowered himself into it.

"Thank you for coming," Father Carl wheezed.

"What's all this about sir?" Maria questioned.

"You are all up to date, I assume, to the events that have transpired in the past twenty-four hours," Father Carl answered, "In light of everything, I want you three to gather a group of three or four each and find the anti-christ. It's imperative that we find it and kill it. If we fail God's duty, our souls will be forever damned to this Hell on earth."

"Of course sir, right away," Zak nodded his head.

"I want Maria going North, Zak heading South, and Yaseen can take East," Father Carl instructed, "And make sure Kris is being handled. His insubordination last night is unforgivable."

"He's being handled as we speak, sir. I will double check, of course sir," Yaseen spoke.

"Good, good. Keep an eye out for Dr. Wilkins as well. We will need to take care of her if we find her," added Father Carl.

Maria, Zak, and Yaseen all said, "Yes sir".

"Now get to it," Father Carl waved a hand at the three of them.

They nodded and exited the office.

Dr. Wilkins was sat in her car, twenty miles away from the church. She was parked in the lot of a pharmacy which she had just raided. The small one had got her good. She was lucky the bullet just grazed her shoulder.

The wound needed to be stitched, which was exactly what Victoria was doing now. It hurt, a lot, but she needed to stitch it up and keep it clean. God forbid the wound would get infected. Just because it wasn't the virus, a regular infection could still be just as deadly, minus the zombie like after affect the virus had.

Her next stop would be the liquor store she had spotted down the street. Hopefully there was something left she could use to help clean the wound. After all this, she would have to figure out where they had gone, Peter and his friends.

It was important she found him again. He was the key to a cure and she wasn't going to let him out of her grip without a fight. She also knew that she'd have to find him before Father Carl's goons did. They'd be out for blood.

That whole anti-christ spiel was bull. She hadn't known about that until the moment of operation. There was a loud bang in the trunk, a little whimper following. Victoria let out a shuddery cry. It hurt, god.

She needed to find Peter. She needed to find a cure.

They had gone out in groups that morning, after realising that the motel was close to a town. Tara, Mike, and Davy made a run for gas, as much as they could find. Isaac, Micky, and Davy went out after that for food and medical supplies.

Then finally, Heather, Peter, George, and Mike went to the shops to find as many warm clothes as they could. It was cold out and it was just going to get colder. By the time all of this was taken care of, it was around noon.

"Hey, Mike what's the deal with your hat?" Heather asked as the group began to get ready to head out.

"What hat?" Mike frowned.

"The green wooly one that you always wear dummy," Heather clarified, pointing at said hat that Mike was indeed wearing.

He brought his hand to his head and felt the hat. In a quick jerky movement, Mike took the hat from his head and handed it to Heather, who inspected it.

"It reminds me of home. My aunt Kate knitted it for me when I was about your age or something, maybe I was a bit younger, I'm not a hundred percent sure," Mike explained.

Heather handed the wool hat back to Mike, who placed it back atop his head.

"Where's home Mike?" Heather questioned.

"A real small town in Texas," Mike replied.

"Did you like your family? Do you know if they're still alive?" Heather wanted to know.

Mike glanced back towards the motel where Micky was finishing up gathering any spare things he could use for something. Davy was insisting he hurry up and George seemed to be trying to help Micky hurry.

"My dad wasn't the best. Mom died when I was eleven. But my aunt Kate was a real lady, whenever I could stay with her I would. I had a brother and a sister, though we didn't get along very much. They didn't have to deal with my dad," Mike said at length with a shrug, "I don't exactly know if they're still alive or infected or what. But I got hope that at least my aunt Kate's maybe still kicking. She was tough."

"Maybe after we see what's up with my family, we can go to Texas and see if your aunt Kate is around," Heather suggested.

"Aha, I don't think so. Texas is something of a drive and it ain't that important or nothing," Mike chuckled, ruffling Heather's hair, "Plus I've got my family right here."

"Heather did you put your toothbrush back into your pack?" Isaac interrupted suddenly.

"Yeah I did Isaac," Heather confirmed.

"We should get going. There's no doubt Father Carl will have sent out search parties for your immune friend," Tara announced.

"Micky c'mon we've gotta go," Davy barked.

Micky popped out of a room, a full plastic bag in his hand. It was filled with electric plugs and a few wires, a couple of random small hand tools, and a few other various items.

"Okay, okay I'm ready… jeez," he mumbled.

"Where'd you find all that?" George wondered.

"Laying around," shrugged Micky before hopping over the little railing that separated the outside walkway that the motel rooms were connected by to the parking lot.

"Tara, do you want to ride with me?" Mike asked.

"Sure," Tara nodded.

"I'll sit in the back," Davy announced before clambering into the backseat of the Monkeemobile.

Ronda followed suit, knowing there wouldn't be enough room in the second car. For a brief moment, she wondered if soon they would possibly need three cars.

"Micky, will you sit in the back with me and Peter?" Heather asked, tugging on Micky's hand.

"Sure babe, no problem," Micky grinned.

Peter was already in the back seat, talking about something with George who was in the driver's seat. Micky and Heather joined him in the back and Isaac settled in the passenger's side. Mike took the wheel of the Monkeemobile and Tara the passenger's side.

"Heather, you're sure you remember how to get to your aunt's residence?" Isaac questioned.

"I would never forget how to get there. My cousin and I were more like sister than anything else. Our moms were friends and we used to see each other all the time. Since we were both only children, we only ever had each other to play with," Heather assured him.

"What's your cousin's name?" Peter asked.

"Linda, but everyone calls her Lyn," answered Heather.

"Well you just let me know when to turn and stuff," George said and turned the keys in the ignition.

The car rumbled to life and soon they were off, George leading the way and Mike following as closely as safety allowed. He was determined not to have another split up indicent.

Although Julia had relieved Freddy of his shift near one in the morning, providing him plenty of time to get some sleep, when seven in the morning rolled around, Freddy gave up trying to fall into unconsciousness. There wasn't any sleep for him. He had been kept awake all night by what Dr. Rose and he had discussed earlier in the night.

Dr. Rose had been studying the virus as best as anyone could. She was holed up in a hospital near Toronto, Canada. Although she was slowly running out of generator fuel and supplies, she was still doing her best to study the virus.

But this information had gone untold to both Julia and Greg. They were Dr. Wilkins's assistants, but Freddy was Dr. Rose's. Before all of this had happened, Dr. Wilkins and Rose had been colleagues, friends almost. Freddy was running an errand for Dr. Rose when the virus outbreak occurred, and that was how he got stuck here.

Julia and Greg were decent enough people but Dr. Wilkins was always held in an unsavoury opinion with both Freddy and Dr. Rose. Her methods were extreme and on several occasions, Dr. Rose had reported her to some medical board for disregarding rules and safety precautions.

That was why Julia and Greg couldn't know about Dr. Rose's work. She was doing research by the book. Dr. Wilkins would do anything for a cure, even test the virus on healthy human test subjects. If Greg or Julia found out, they would both certainly tell Dr. Wilkins.

And Freddy didn't even want to think how Dr. Wilkins would react to the news. Freddy rolled out of bed, already dressed in the clothes he had worn yesterday, and shuffled out into the living area. The kitchen bled right into it.

Julia stood over the toaster, watching her bread toast. Their food would run out one day. They still had provisions for at least another month or two, but all three of them were realizing that soon they would need to venture outside for food. But, food was a taboo subject and the topic of running out was purposely left out of conversation.

"Good morning," Freddy greeted, slinking over to the kitchen area.

Julia turned around and her face lit up.

"Freddy! Guess what news Dr. Wilkins called in, after I took up the night shift?" Julia gushed.

"What did she call in?" Freddy frowned.

"Oh Freddy! She's found someone who is immune!" exclaimed Julia.

Immune? The phrase rattled Freddy. Someone who could not be infected by the virus. That was what immune meant. And Dr. Wilkins had found someone that was just like that.

"She found someone who is immune," Freddy repeated.

"Yes, isn't it great? She lost him, but she said she was going to find him again and then either come back here or find a working hospital or something so that she can start coming up with a cure or a vaccine," Julia nodded her head vigorously.

"That's wonderful!" Freddy agreed, suddenly bursting into a large grin.

Of course, it wasn't. That poor guy. Dr. Rose would need to find out about this right away.

It had been so long since Heather had even been near the state of Washington, let alone traveling familiar roads that would lead to her aunt Candy's home. It brought up old memories that Heather hadn't thought of in a very long time.

Yet despite this, Heather still was uneasy about doing this. For one thing, she had no idea what to expect when they got there. What if Candy and Linda, her aunt and cousin, were both infected? What if one of them was and the other wasn't?

These thoughts swirled around in Heather's mind, creating a sickening churn in her stomach. Peter and Micky seemed to sense the unease of their youngest member and so Micky started spouting jokes.

They were lame and dumb, but they brought a smile to both Heather and Peter's faces. In the car behind, Mike and Tara were getting to know each other, in their own tense sort of way. Ronda neglected to speak and Davy chimed in whenever he could.

As they drove, they passed empty towns, empty homes. There were infected that they passed, far off and distant yet clear in the bright light of day. Nearing five o'clock, they slowed down to a stop in the middle of the road.

Everyone got out to relieve bladders and eat. Although supper consisted of granola bars, a bag of stale potato chips, and bottles of water, it was nice to get out of the cars and stretch.

"So, how long to where your aunt lives Heather?" George asked as they stretched out their legs.

They had been traveling for nearly two days now. At first, it had taken Heather a while to remember something familiar and then be able to give directions. But she had managed and they had driven steadily since then, with few breaks.

"Not too long. If we keep going then I think that we'd be able to make it before dusk," Heather responded.

"Maybe we should stop for the night," Isaac suggested, "So that we can all be on our best alert."

"I don't know. I think we should push on. Get where we're going and get it done with," shrugged Micky.

"Either way, we should press on somewhere soon, it's too dangerous to be roaming about at night in cars," Davy pointed out.

They had encountered an increased amount of infected while driving at night. The area seemed to be teeming with them. Since the first night they had driven during the late hours, the group had by all means tried to solely drive when the sun was out.

"Are we going to take another vote on it?" Tara asked with some distaste.

"No I think it'd be best to keep going, get to the home, especially if we're able to get where we're goin' before desk," Michael responded.

"Alright then, we better get moving," Davy clapped his hands together, "There's no time to waste."

So they headed out again. The minutes crawled by and Peter fell asleep on Heather. Micky talked about older gigs, some of the dumb things he and his friends had gotten into, and the like.

In the Monkeemobile, things were quieter.

And so nearing dusk, which was around 5:00 in the evening, Heather suddenly pointed straight ahead.

"That house. Right there, that's my aunt's house," she exclaimed.

Her sudden movements woke Peter up, who looked around wildly as if something was about to attack him.

"Well, let's go see what's up," George said, mostly to himself.

"I'm scared," Heather admitted quietly.

Micky took ahold of Heather's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We're all going to be right here with you. Everything will be okay, babe," Micky reassured her, flashing her a smile full of warmth.

"Yeah, Micky's right. There's no need to be scared," Peter nodded his head, smiling as well.

What had they been through? That was the thought that crossed George's mind upon seeing this scene in his back car. Micky, Davy, and Ronda had divulged some information to him and his sister, although they didn't necessarily know the whole story.

Then again, it wasn't like they knew the whole story about George and his sister. George eased into the driveway and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Mike did the same, pulling up behind George.

They all clambered out of their respective cars. Tara had two firearms on her, Ronda her baseball bat, Micky had picked up a pretty lethal kitchen knife which was now his weapon, Isaac had a tire iron, and Davy and George both had one firearm each. Mike had a hammer he had picked up back at the motel they had stayed the night at two days previous.

Peter refused to carry a weapon, claiming that since he held immunity, there was no need for him to be armed. Mike had it on his list to have it out with him later. And Heather didn't know how to use anything, although she had a small pocket knife.

"Alright, Ronda, Davy, Tara, and I will go scope out the house. Micky and Peter, check out the street, then Isaac, George, and Heather stay here, watch the cars," Mike instructed.

Peter and Micky nodded, disappearing down the driveway to see what they could see. The street seemed to be empty. Heather gripped Isaac's hand, while George made sure that he was ready to switch on his car at any moment.

Davy, Ronda, Tara, and Mike crept up to the house. The front door was closed but unlocked, so Ronda easily pushed it open. They split up, Davy and Tara heading upstairs while Ronda and Mike were combing the downstairs.

The shriek came suddenly, out of the blue. Mike had opened the door to the kitchen and suddenly a woman launched herself at him. He fended her off, stumbling backwards. The woman had pale skin, red ringed eyes, veins that stood out on her body.

Mike sidestepped another attempt, swinging the hammer he held. The infected pitched forward, the hammer getting caught on the rotting corpse. Swearing under his breath, Mike bolted over the kitchen counter, quickly surveying whether or not the kitchen had another weapon to offer him.

The infected shrieked loudly again, hurling itself towards Michael. Then Ronda appeared from a second doorway, metal bat quickly swinging backwards then forwards. The tip connected with the infected's head and it was tottered over.

Ronda swung again, and again, and then finally a fourth time. She grimaced at the mess before glancing up at Mike. He looked alright.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, thanks Ronda," Mike replied.

"Mike! What happened?" Davy exclaimed, rushing into the kitchen, followed closely by Tara.

"Everything's okay, just got nearly jumped by an infected," Mike explained to him.

Davy glanced down and vomit rose in his throat. He quickly looked away.

"We'll have to clean up. We need to stay the night here," Tara began.

"This must have been Heather's aunt, Candy," Ronda interrupted.

"Christ, I hope not. But… we'll have to find out," Mike sighed.

He was dreading this moment. He had hoped that maybe something good would have come out of this. Just then the pantry door was flung wide open and a petite girl came barreling out of the cramped little room. She launched herself at Davy who, although surprised, quickly ducked, causing the girl to flip onto the floor.

She let out a grunt and leapt up but Ronda was able to grab her arms. The girl squirmed and kicked but Ronda held fast. As Mike and Davy tried to calm the girl down (she wasn't infected as far as they could tell), Peter and Heather entered the kitchen. Isaac, George, and Micky were still outside, in the front, keeping a lot out for any other infected that might be attracted by the sudden increase of noise.

"Lyn?" Heather gasped when she entered the room.

The girl Ronda was holding stopped dead in her tracks, going limp. She stared at Heather blankly before lighting up.

"Heather? Oh, oh god Heather I can't… I can't believe oh man, Heather!" Lyn blurted.

Ronda released her grip on Lyn and the girl burst forward, wrapping Heather up into a hug. Heather was only a little taller than Davy, and based on this Lyn was only a few inches shorter than the Englishman.

"It's so good to see you, I can't believe you're still alive!" the grin on Heather's face was priceless.

"Really? Why's that?" chuckled Lyn.

"Where's Aunt Candy?" Heather asked, not quite hearing Lyn's question.

"I think she was infected," Ronda piped up.

Heather's smile faltered. She looked at Lyn.

"Mom's fine, she's just taking a nap on the floor," Lyn said in response, gesturing to the horrific scene on the floor by the kitchen counter.

"No, I had no choice but to terminate your mother. She was not your mom, she was infected," Ronda corrected.

"Ha, ha, who are these people? They're pretty funny," Lyn smiled.

Heather's brows knitted into a frown.

"Lyn, I… Lyn I'm sorry but Aunt Candy's… she's right there, she's dead. I heard the screams, and they were those of an infected," Heather informed her cousin.

"She'll be okay now," Lyn mumbled.

Heather shot a pained look to Peter who in turn looked at Ronda and Mike.

"How about you and Lyn go into the living room with Peter and myself?" Davy suggested, "We can call in George and Isaac and Micky and let our friends here clean up a bit. Make us some food. We can eat and talk and all that good stuff."

"I am hungry," Lyn said, her smile returning.

Heather looked downcast, crushed. She was worried about her cousin's actions, the words she was using, they all just seemed so wrong and weird.

"Alright then," Peter chirped, giving Heather a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, "Let's go do that. It sounds like a groovy idea."

They retreated to the living room. The entire house smelled musty and as Isaac, Micky, and George entered the house, they kicked up dust. While they settled down in the living room, Tara and Ronda dragged Aunt Candy's body out to the backyard. Mike and Davy cleaned up a little and then investigated the pantry. There was so much food in there that Mike's stomach growled greedily at the sight of it all.

"Maybe we should stay here for winter," Davy commented, only half kidding.

"Grab those boxes of cereal, I'll get bowls if I can find them," Mike instructed.

Mike did indeed find enough bowls for everyone and then the unofficial clean up crew went into the living room where the others were sat in. Heather was sitting between Micky and Isaac, George sitting on the left of Isaac. Linda was sat on a wooden chair across from her cousin and Peter was standing in the corner.

Ronda took up a position in the corner across from Peter. Mike and Micky handed out the bowls of cereal before settling down on the remaining couch and Tara sat cross legged on the floor.

"Lyn, can you tell us what happened?" Isaac prompted after a moment of silence.

Linda looked up and then looked back down at the bowl of cereal in her lap.

"Mom and I holed up here, because what else would you need besides your home. We're waiting until things blow over. Mom didn't feel so good three months back, but we're going to Texas when she's well enough to drive so that the army men can make her better," Linda said slowly.

To say the least, it unnerved most of the gang the way Linda was referring to her mother. As if she were still alive and amongst them.

"Why Texas?" Mike inquired.

"That's where the radio keeps telling us to go," Linda answered, putting her bowl on the coffee table that was in between her wooden chair and the couch before getting up and disappearing for a minute.

She came back with a clunky black radio cradled in her arms. She sat back down and fiddled with the dials for a moment. Through the stale crackle of static came a wavering voice.

"Attention all survivors. This is a standard military issued announcement. Any survivors are urged to make their way to Jamesville, Texas. Here is hope, here is survival," a gruff male voice came straining through.

There was about twenty seconds of silence before the message repeated. Exactly the same as before. Micky's heart fell. He had been hopeful that maybe this was a broadcast, not an automated message stuck on the repeat. Davy wasn't surprised.

Linda switched off the radio and put it gently on the ground next to her chair. She picked her cereal bowl back up.

"Now that you all are here, we can get mom to Texas, to the army men. Then she can get better," Linda stated.

"Lyn… can I call you Lyn?" Isaac asked. Linda nodded her head.

"Alright Lyn, well, I'm Isaac, this is my friend Ronda," Isaac introduced himself, gesturing towards Ronda.

Isaac nodded his head slightly at Mike after speaking, indicating that he should introduce his half of their little family, although Mike's "half" compromised the large majority of their group.

"I'm Mike, that's Davy, Micky, and over there's Peter," said Mike.

"Hiya!" Micky chirped, although Davy shot him a disapproving look.

"Hello," said Linda, the corners of her mouth almost twitching into a small smile.

"And I'm Tara," Tara finished off, gesturing towards George, "And that's my brother, George."

"It's nice to meet you all," Linda greeted, "I'm Linda, but everyone calls me Lyn. My mom's name is Candy, so you can call her Candy."

"Your mother's dead Lyn," Heather snapped suddenly.

Lyn's face whitened, the colour quickly draining from her cheeks.

"She's just in the kitchen," Lyn said in response.

"No, Linda, your mom's dead. We both saw her on the floor. We both know she got infected. You've got to understand she got infected, right?" Heather said, her voice rising in volume and intensity.

"She's just sick, the army men will make her better," mumbled Linda.

"The army men probably are all dead too Lyn! Candy's dead and you need to accept that or else what good are you, living in a bloody dream world?" Heather shouted.

"Heather, stop it right now," Isaac barked sharply.

He had not used that tone of voice with her in months. It stopped Heather in her tracks. She looked at Lyn, who was shaking, the tears streaking down her cheeks silently. Everyone felt extremely awkward in this moment.

"Lyn, would you like to show me to your room? I'd love to see it," Peter piped up, finally breaking the awkward tension.

At the comment, Lyn's face broke out into a smile and she swiped away her tears.

"Oh yes, I would love to, mom probably wants me to show you where you all can sleep and stuff," said the young girl.

She stood up and Peter followed her up the stairs.

"Jeez, what's her deal?" Tara grumbled, finding it ridiculous the way the girl was acting.

No one made acknowledgement to Tara's comment, although George shot her a warning look.

"Heather, how old is your cousin?" Isaac asked.

"She's fifeteen," Heather answered, then after a pause, "Isaac, why is she acting like that? Is something wrong with her? Why does she keep talking like aunt Candy's still alive?"

"She's trying to deal with the quick escalation of events. She's been alone, as far as we've gathered, for about three months, probably cooped up in that pantry she had been hiding in when we first arrived," Isaac replied.

"We all deal with this sort of stuff differently," Micky added.

"Our group is extremely lucky considering everything," agreed Davy.

"Still don't mean she gotta have her head in the clouds," said Mike, "We need to talk with her about what's happened and help her understand her situation."

"We will, but we can't push her too far. She's mentally unstable," Isaac pointed out.

"Isaac, we don't have time to worry about," Ronda countered.

"Unless we stay here for the winter," Mike suggested.

"Stay here for the winter?" Tara echoed, as if it were the craziest idea she had ever heard in her life.

"There is quite a lot of food in the pantry of this kitchen," Davy mused.

"That's the case, and we haven't even scoped out the other surrounding houses," Micky added.

"You can't be serious, considering this," Tara grumbled, but George "shh"ed her before she could say anything else.

"If we stayed here the winter, then we could help Linda," said Mike.

"I don't want to stay here. I want to go home," whined Heather.

"We'll be home soon," Micky comforted her, although how relative the word soon was in usage here was questionable.


	13. Chapter 13

The house was large. Not overly huge, but larger than normal. It contained five bedrooms, two bath. Lyn showed the group the four other bedrooms that were in the house, although they only had three to pick from since Lyn didn't want anyone to sleep in her mom's room, insisting that her mother would need the bedroom to sleep in when she came up to bed.

They sorted themselves out, each subgroup taking one of the available bedrooms for themselves. George and Tara didn't speak to each other. Or to be more precise, Tara didn't talk to George. Although her brother attempted conversation, Tara crawled under the covers and shut her eyes. In the room next to Lyn's room, Heather, Isaac, and Ronda were getting ready to go to sleep.

"Heather, do you want me to braid your hair?" Ronda asked, placing her hand gently upon the younger girl's shoulder.

Heather shook her head, climbing into the bed silently. Ronda and Isaac exchanged looks.

"Are you alright, Heather?" Isaac prompted.

"I'm just tired," Heather sighed, although Ronda felt that Heather was not divulging everything.

"Alright, goodnight then, Heather," Ronda said though, despite her gut feeling. She leaned forward and placed a kiss upon Heather's forehead.

In the next room, Mike, Davy, Peter, and Micky were all squashed into a bed. It was late and Peter was exhausted. He fell asleep quickly, almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was a different story for his friends. Mike laid awake, listening to the quiet and thinking. For the past few nights, he had felt the urge to cry.

Although he didn't want to admit it to himself, he missed the pad. He missed that constant feeling of security that he had felt there for the most part. There he had been able to control things, keep everyone together and easily protect them. But on the road, Mike felt as if he couldn't properly protect his friends and do his job.

Next to him, Davy was also listening to the quiet and thinking, but it wasn't about the past or the pad. He was thinking about the church. Thinking about how many people out there might be doing the same exact thing those people had been doing. Using others to protect themselves. Killing others to protect themselves.

Micky wasn't thinking at all though. He was just trying to get himself to sleep. That's all he wanted to do, was sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well for a few nights now and he was determined to get a good night's rest on this evening.

Micky and Mike were on the outsides of the bed, leaving Peter and Davy on the inside. Peter was next to Mike and Davy was next to Micky. Despite the quite, it wasn't too long before Peter began making a whimpering noise, quiet at first but it slowly gained volume.

"Shh-ut up, Peter," Micky mumbled in a drawn out groan.

By the tone of his voice both Davy and Mike could tell he wasn't too far from unconsciousness. Davy rolled over and gently shook Peter.

"Hey, Peter, wake up man," Davy said, coaxing the bassist awake.

Peter opened his eyes and blinked, a sinking feeling of fear and disgust flooding into his stomach. He was too tired to register that he was crying. Mike placed his hand on Peter's back. Peter pulled away and buried his face into Davy's chest. The smaller man wrapped his arms around Peter.

Mike knew that Peter didn't mean anything by moving away, that he probably drifting back to sleep right that moment, but some a small part of him felt personally hurt. After a few moments, Peter was fast asleep and Micky was snoring.

Davy held onto Peter, finding the weight on his chest reassuring. It had been a little while since Davy had been in this position. Back at the pad, Davy had spent many nights sleeping in Peter's bed in order to comfort his friend. It had comforted him as well, knowing that he was never alone. Davy wasn't sure how much time had passed when he decided to see if Mike was awake, but he didn't want to stay awake the whole night. He needed to get his thoughts off his chest.

"Mike, are you still awake?" he hissed.

"Yeah," came Mike's response.

"Can I ask you something?" Davy asked.

A frown creased Michael's brow and he paused before saying, "Course ya can."

"Mike… do you think I'm a bad person?" Davy wondered.

Hearing the question surprised Mike and it made him feel sick hearing Davy ask that. How on earth could he think that?

"What? Davy you ain't a bad person, why on earth would you even think you were?" he demanded.

Davy winced a little at the harsh tone he detected in Mike's voice.

"Well… because those people at the church, they hurt people to protect themselves. And I've been thinking a lot about what they did. There are probably others out there, doing the same time… and I did it too Mike. I hurt people to save Peter, to save you and the others… and if they are bad people, then does that make me a bad person?" Davy said slowly, a look of pain contorting his face the longer he spoke.

Mike was silent for a moment. He hadn't thought about that before. God, he didn't even want to remember the church. It still felt like a bad dream to him and it made him uncomfortable to think about it.

"I don't want to be a bad person," Davy admitted, interpreting Mike's silence as an agreement that he was what he feared. Mike caught on.

"No, Davy, I don't think that. You ain't a bad person and ya never will be. If it weren't for you, Peter'd be dead. Those folks, well they didn't give ya much of a choice, now did they? You did what you had to do and there ain't anything bad about that. Me and Mick, we'd have done the same thing," the Texan quickly said.

"But what makes what I did different from what they did, Mike? They were only trying to protect themselves," Davy wondered, almost to himself.

Mike hated hearing the despair in Davy's voice. It had been so long since he had heard that tone in the Englishman. Even when Peter had been thought doomed, Mike hadn't heard such despair in his friend's voice.

"They killed people Davy. You ain't killed no one. That's the difference," Mike insisted.

There was a pause. Davy felt a queasy feeling come over him and he took a deep breath.

"That's the thing though Mike. I've thought about it hard, and I think that if it had come down to it, I would have killed everyone in that church to save you lot. You and Peter and Micky. I'd kill anyone if it meant saving you three fellas. Because I don't know if my family in England is still alive and I can only assume they're all dead. I'm real torn up about that, I have been since the start of all this, but because of you fellas, it's been alright. And that means I'm damn well going to kill anyone who wants to hurt you. So I'm no different then them Mike. I'm no different," Davy said seriously.

It was not despair that Mike heard in Davy's voice this time. It was something Mike hadn't heard since before the outbreak began. And it broke Mike's heart. It broke him just like the moment he thought that Peter had been infected. Davy had said what he had said with such conviction, Mike almost found himself agreeing.

"Don't talk like that, Davy," he said.

"Why not?" Davy wanted to know.

"Because all that ain't true. It ain't true Davy. You aren't anything like those church people. You and Micky, you guys were the ones who brought Ronda, Heather, and Isaac back to the pad. That proves that you ain't anything like those people Davy. You just gotta stop thinking like you're thinking," Mike answered.

Peter let out a strangled moan. He sounded as if he were in pain. Davy rubbed his back and whispered to him that he was alright. Mike thought back to the first few nights they had spent in the thick of the outbreak. Davy crying, Peter having nightmares, Mike unable to get himself to sleep. After a moment, Peter subsided and so did Michael's thoughts.

"Alright Mike, I'll believe you," Davy caved.

He wasn't sure if he truly believed Mike, but he wanted to. So if he could believe even for a moment that he believed Mike, he'd take it.

"You aren't a bad person, Davy… you're my friend and I should know," Mike repeated.

"I love you, Mike," whispered Davy.

A weariness had overcome him and he felt himself drifting off. Mike was still wide awake but he could hear Davy's breathing begin to fall into a steady rhythm.

"I love you too, Davy," Mike replied.

Then Davy fell asleep. Eventually, Mike shut his eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber. Unknown the to boys, Lyn was crouched right outside their bedroom. She had everything ready, she just needed a driver. For about ten minutes, she waited to see if anyone else would speak, waiting for the moment she thought they all were relatively asleep.

No one had spoken since, so Lyn decided that it would be safe to enter. Pushing the door open as quietly as possible, the teenager slunk into the room. She decided that Micky would be the best one for what she needed. He was snoring heavily, so heavily that Lyn was surprised his snoring didn't wake his friends, which meant he was probably a heavy sleeper. Plus he was on the edge of the bed that all four of the Monkees were crammed into.

Lyn crept over to the bed and tugged on Micky. He was more on the edge of the bed than Lyn had guessed and he fell right onto the floor with a loud thump. Lyn's heart nearly leapt into her throat and she waited for Micky or one of the others or both to wake up. Nothing happened. Micky snored on and the others continued to slumber relatively quiet.

Lyn grabbed Micky by the waist and half carried, half dragged him out of the room and down the stairs. She rested him for a moment on the ground and opened the garage door. Then she half carried, half dragged him into her mother's car. Once he was positioned in the driver's seat and securely buckled, Lyn grabbed the duct tape she had put on the passenger's side seat and duct taped Micky's hands to the steering wheel.

Once that was finished, Lyn went out back and grabbed her mother. She dragged her inside, then to the garage, and loaded her into the back. Everything was in place now. She ran once more into the kitchen and pulled open a drawer next to the fridge. Inside was a pistol her mother had kept around for emergencies.

Lyn took this and went back to the garage. She had already opened the door before she had gone upstairs to get Micky. All she had to do was wake up her driver. She clambered into the passenger's side and buckled herself up.

Micky blinked awake slowly. Something cold and clunky was jabbing him in the side. He shook the sleep off and realized he was in the driver's seat of a car. He looked to his right and saw Lyn with a gun pointed at him. When he tried to move his hands, he realized that they were taped to the steering wheel.

"Don't make a sound, or I'll shoot you. Mom's okay with me doing this, because she knows that it has to be done. We have to get her to the army men," Lyn said.

Micky's heart sank when he didn't hear or see any trembling in the teenager. She didn't have any plans on backing out of this.

"This is a bit crazy, isn't it?" he asked, trying to sound light hearted when in fact his mind was racing with the question of how he was going to get out of this one.

"Just drive. Drive or I'll shoot you," Lyn demanded.

"This sure is one way to wake up," grumbled Micky but he complied, seeing no other option but to listen to Lyn for now.

He didn't want to die and he wasn't about to wreck the whole car, and he didn't want to hurt Lyn either. Micky glanced at the gages in front of him and turned to look at Lyn.

"You have to put the keys into the ignition and put the car into drive before I can go anywhere," he informed her.

Red coloured the girl's cheeks in embarrassment and she quickly fumbled the keys into the ignition. Once the car was actually on, Lyn put the car into drive.

"Go," Lyn barked.

Micky hit the gas pedal and drove the car out of the garage and into the street. Dawn was just on the horizon and Micky could see the first rays of sun. His stomach felt leadened and he wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or not.

What was he going do? Drive Lyn all the way to Texas? With his hands taped to the steering wheel? How would he use the bathroom? When would he see his friends again? His heart beat fast against his ribcage.

Yet if he did anything else, he was likely to have his stomach pumped full of bullets. So he supposed for now he would have to just drive, and hope he could talk some sense into Lyn before he had drove too far.

"Lyn, can you look back to see if we're being followed?" Micky asked, following something his gut was telling him.

Lyn frowned at him.

"No, you can do that on your own," Lyn stated.

"Are you afraid to look back and see your mom?" Micky wondered.

Lyn's lip trembled.

"Why would I be afraid?" Lyn countered.

"Because you know your mom got infected and you didn't want it to be true and you wanted your mom to be okay and you're still trying to cling onto a hope that doesn't exist," Micky said.

"Shut up," Lyn snapped.

"You know, my mom died too. One day, about a week into the outbreak, I got a call on the phone from my aunt. She told me that my mom and dad had gotten sick but that she was going to take care of them. She sounded fine. She told me that she loved me and that my parents loved me and that she wanted me to always keep fighting no matter what," Micky continued.

"Stop talking," Lyn whimpered as a sinking feeling emptied into her stomach. Micky ignored this.

"My aunt thought she had hung up but she must have done something else because the phone didn't cut off when she said goodbye. After she told me once more that she loved me so much, I heard a gunshot. My heart stopped. Then I heard another gunshot, then a third. I cried because I knew that my aunt had killed my mom and dad out of mercy, and then herself. Maybe it was in fear or maybe she was infected also, I don't know," Micky trailed off.

The tears stung his eyes and they streamed down Lyn's cheeks. Micky hadn't thought about this story in so long, he had almost forgotten the pain. It was not as if he forgot entirely, only that he had moved on, he had never had much of a choice in that matter. There was a silence for about five minutes.

Then Lyn asked quietly, "How do you keep going? How do I keep going without her?" Her voice sounded as if it were going to crack.

"I know my mom and dad wouldn't want me to give up on living. They'd be disappointed if I just gave up and stopped caring. I have Mike, Peter, Davy, Isaac, Ronda, and Heather to look after and if I died, they'd be sad and I don't want to cause them pain. You move on and the pain dulls done," Micky answered.

"But I don't have anyone. All I ever had was my mom and now… now she's gone," Lyn nearly sobbed.

"You have Heather. And in a way, that means you also have Ronda, Isaac, myself, and the other guys," Micky stated.

"I just... I don't want her to be dead," Lyn broke down into sobs, hanging her head.

"It's always hard but you aren't alone Lyn, we've all lost someone and we owe it to the dead to keep on living, and we don't have to live alone, we can live together," Micky told her firmly, hoping that this strategy was working like it seemed to be.

Then suddenly, there was someone in the middle of the road. On instinct, Micky yanked the steering to the left and the car swerved off the road. It speed up a little and in the blink of an eye, the front of the car slammed right into a large oak.

The glass shattered and the airbags deployed. Most of the damage was taken head on by the left side of the car. For a moment, pain shot through Micky's leg and arm, but then a harsh burn took over and then nothing.

Blackness ate away at his sight and then he heard a shriek. An infected. That hadn't been a person on the road, it had been an infected. He swore and forced himself to open his eyes, forced himself awake, because god he couldn't black out now he needed to get going..

He tried to move his arm, the one that had been closest to the driver's side door, but pain shot up the limb. Micky tried to suppress a cry. Something was crying next to him. Micky's heart seized up but when he looked it was only Lyn. She was going to attract all the infected in the area. She looked alright minus a few scratches, bruises, and a large cut on her left arm.

"Lyn, shut up," Micky said, "Lyn, you have to be quiet, shh."

Moving his mouth hurt, but not his actual jaw. His right hand was moveable and he brought his hand up to his face. When he touched his nose, he winced. It was bloody and hurt. It could be broken, although Micky felt that it wasn't askew or positioned weirdly. That was a relief. Lyn was trying to keep quiet, doing a good job of it too.

"Can you unbuckle? Are you hurt?" Micky asked.

There was the curious moanings and noises from the infected that Micky had swerved to avoid.

"I-I'm alright, I think," stammered Lyn. She unbuckled herself and looked at Micky.

"Okay, Lyn, we're going to be alright, okay, you just have to listen to me," Micky assured her.

Lyn nodded her head but flinched when the infected shrieked. It was getting closer to the car. Micky didn't understand why it wasn't attacking them right this very instant but he pushed that out of his mind. They needed to get out of the car and on the run before it called some of it's buddies.

Micky unbuckled himself with his right hand and then moved his right. Pain stabbed him immediately and he bit back a sob. It had to be broken, a voice in the back of his mind pointed out, following up with a snide remark about how stupid Micky was.

"Lyn, get out of the car real slow. You still got that gun?" Micky asked.

Lyn looked around and picked it up off the floor, holding it up for Micky to see. Thank god she hadn't accidentally fired that thing during the mess of the crash.

"Good, now get out," Micky instructed. Lyn looked at him with big round eyes, brimming with tears.

"Please Lyn, you gotta be brave," Micky pleaded.

Lyn nodded and then clambered out of the car. She glanced at the infected slowly making it's way down the hill they had drove down. It hadn't spotted her… yet.

"Lyn, you got anything else on you?" Micky asked. Lyn shook her head.

"Here," Micky stated, pulling out a pocket knife he had kept on him for a little bit now. He held it out to her. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object.

"Lyn, you have to kill that infected before it's friends notice," Micky said gently.

Tears streamed down Lyn's cheeks but she took the knife from Micky. She disappeared. Micky tried to pull himself out of his seat but his leg throbbed in pain and his arm was slowly growing numb. He managed to drag himself into the passenger's side seat.

There was a screech and then silence. Micky felt horribly sick, not just from the pain. Even though they weren't human, he still didn't like having to kill infected. And now he had just made a little girl do what even he didn't like. Lyn appeared by the car once more.

"I want to home now, I don't want to be here anymore," Lyn whimpered.

"Yeah, I feel ya babe," Micky agreed, then glanced down at his leg. It didn't hurt as much as his arm but he wasn't going to be doing any marathons anytime soon and right now that's what he might as well have been about to was the distant noises of other infected.

"Oh my god, we're going to die," Lyn gasped as she began to shake.

"Linda, I know this is hard, but literally now is not the time," Micky snapped, "Help me out, just drag me out of the car, and then we have to get going."

Lyn stared at Micky as if he were crazy. But Micky repeated his instructions and so with a defeated, frightened look Lyn grabbed ahold of Micky's good arm and tugged. The drummer fell out of the car and onto his back. A groan escaped him as his left arm throbbed. Lyn helped him to his feet.

"Remember the way home?" Micky wondered.

"Yeah," Lyn confirmed.

"Lead on then," Micky said.

Lyn took ahold of Micky's right arm and wrapped it around her neck. It wasn't much for support but it took a little less pressure off of Micky's leg, which he had determined that he must have strained or something, considering it had been sort of trapped between the side of the seat and the busted door at an awkward angle.

They had walked only about a mile before they ran into trouble, which considering everything was extremely lucky. An infected had spotted them and the two were forced to sprint in order to dodge it. Lyn had to keep pulling Micky along and she was surprised by how strong she was. Eventually they managed to lose said infected by hiding in an abandoned building for about a half hour. Micky had collapsed onto the ground and his face was scrunched up in pain.

"Do you wanna rest?" Lyn questioned. Micky forced himself to his feet.

"No, we have to make it back before nightfall, they're harder to spot and they get more active sometimes," Micky answered.

Lyn nodded her head and they began the half-crawl, half-dash they had been doing before. Micky ground his teeth together and Lyn was starting to feel very light-headed. Both were technically still in shock from the crash and adrenaline was pumping through both of their bloodstreams in two-fold.

"It's not much farther," Lyn said at some point, but this reassurance was cursed.

Almost as soon as Lyn had utter those four words, there was a loud shriek behind them. Lyn turned her head to look back and saw a handful of infected begin to race towards them. Her heart leapt into her throat, trying to suffocate her in that moment, and her whole body went cold.

Latching onto Micky's wrist, Lyn took off as fast as she could, dragging Micky with her, a sudden new strength flowing through her body. Micky tried to protest at first, but he then heard the shrieks and knew he'd need to suck it up or die. They sprinted out onto the road and Lyn knew they were close. Micky was beginning to get heavier and harder to pull behind her.

"You have to keep moving! I'm not strong enough to carry you," Lyn shouted, knowing fully well that if Micky went down, she'd have to leave him and she couldn't do that. She couldn't let him down like she had let her mother down.

Micky's heart pounded in his ears and he found it difficult to breath. His arm hurt so much, his leg throbbed, and all he wanted to do was lay down and take a nap. Lyn yanked him forward, causing the pain of his arm to jolt him back to reality a little more. Lyn felt him pick up his own pace and they forged forward.

The house came into view and Lyn began shouting, screaming as loud as she could. The woman, Ronda, appeared outside along with the smaller man, Davy, if Lyn remembered correctly. Their faces quickly went from looks of relief to looks of horror. The Englishman shouted something into the house and the others appeared.

The tallest one, Mike, came sprinting over and took Micky. He grabbed his injured arm and Micky cried out. Ronda and Davy went past them with Peter and Tara. They were going to take care of the infected, which were only six to seven, not many considering. But if they didn't take care of them soon, others could be attracted by their noise.

Isaac and Heather appeared and Mike lead Micky and Lyn back into the house. Mike took Micky over to the couch and sat him down. Micky leaned his head back against the back of the couch and groaned.

"What happened?" Isaac demanded.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault, I tried to get him to take me to Texas to save my m-mom, I'm sorry, he-he made me realize how stupid I've been and then… an infected came out onto the road and he swerved and we hit a tree," Lyn gushed, the adrenaline draining, leaving her feeling exhausted and wracked with guilt.

Heather wrapped her up into a hug and Isaac made his way over to Micky, kneeling down and taking the arm Micky was cradling.

"This will hurt," Isaac warned and he began to press, to feel the state of the bone. Micky gasped in pain and Mike cringed for his friend, hating to see him in pain. He felt numb in the pit of his stomach.

"It isn't broken," Isaac reported, "At least I don't believe it is. It's only fractured and I think as long as we put it into a makeshift cast, you'll be fine."

"His leg hurts him too, his left," Lyn informed Isaac, her voice sounding very small.

Isaac backed up a little and inspected Micky's left foot. His ankle was sprained. Isaac reported this.

"It's alright though, he'll recover," Isaac assured, the comment mainly directed towards Mike.

"It hurts," Micky moaned.

"I know, I have some pain killers in my bag upstairs, you can have some of those," Isaac commented, getting to his feet.

The others entered the home at that moment. Peter rushed into the living room, a strained expression on his face, hands fidgeting about themselves.

"Is Micky hurt? Is he alright?" he wanted to know.

"He'll be fine," Mike informed him.

"Davy, Peter can you two find a longboard and something to tie Micky's arm to it?" asked Isaac.

"Course," Davy nodded, and then he and Peter disappeared.

"I'll go get your bag," Ronda said and Isaac thanked her before she disappeared upstairs.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," whimpered Lyn.

"It's alright," Isaac said to her. Mike couldn't look at the girl.

Davy and Peter had both been distraught when they had found Micky missing from the house. Mike had been too and as they continued to find no evidence of where Micky had gone, Mike had felt the safety of what little courage he had built around himself begin to crumble.

Although he would never admit it out loud, and hardly enjoyed admitting to himself, he needed his friends for his own survival. They were his support and the only reason he was able to continue every day. Micky, Davy, and Peter needed to be alive and well for Mike to be able to do the same.

"You're such an idiot Lyn," Heather cut in, although she didn't sound angry. The words surprised Isaac and Mike nonetheless and they cut Lyn deep.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"Sorry isn't good enough. But we'll move on. You're lucky Micky didn't die," Heather said matter of factly. Mike looked at her and noticed there was something different about her. It wasn't anything too major but he noticed a strange absence of light in the young girl's eyes.

"It's 'kay, it's just a bit of pain," Micky piped up, forcing a smile.

"Tara and I will give you guys some space, and we'll keep an eye out outside for any other infected," George suddenly announced, feeling that this was a personal moment for the senior group members.

Isaac nodded his head in acknowledgement and, despite Tara's glare of an argument, she and George exited the home. Peter and Davy came back just around the same time Ronda came downstairs with Isaac's bag. Ronda disappeared again to get a bottle of water, after she handed Isaac his bag of course.

"Thank you," Isaac said to Davy, who handed him what he had asked for.

"Will the cast work?" Davy wondered, his brows knitted together. Peter scratched at his neck in worry.

"It should, as long as I'm not wrong, which I could be since I'm not exactly looking at this through an X-Ray machine," the older man shrugged.

"You know, it's not so bad after a while," Micky said, "Better when I'm not running for my life." He chuckled at his own little joke, although no one else thought it funny and it hardly was.

"Sorry Micky, but this will make it hurt again," Isaac apologized and straightened out Micky's arm onto the board. He cringed and let out a hiss of air.

Ronda returned and handed the bottle of water to Peter for him to hold. She knelt down and held the board for Isaac as he securely tied Micky's arm to the board. It was as best of a cast as they were going to get. Isaac turned to his bag and brought out some of the few pain killers he had on him for occasions just like this.

Peter handed Micky the water bottle, who put it next to him so that he could take the pills Isaac pressed into his palm. Micky popped them into his mouth- there were only two of them- and he took a swig of water, gulping down the pain killers.

"You should try to get some sleep now," Isaac advised. Micky nodded but he didn't make any move to get himself more comfortable. There was a quiet sense of tension within the room.

A few hours passed. Ronda convinced Linda to show her, Tara, and Heather around the block, just so they could get the lay of the land and check to make sure there were no more infected around, just in case the ones from earlier had attracted any. George was asleep upstairs and Isaac was taking stock of supplies in the kitchen. Peter sat nearby at the table, head in hands. In the living room, Micky was asleep on the couch with Mike sat right by him on the floor. Davy entered the living and sat down on the chair across from the couch.

"How are you?" Davy asked, spooking Mike with the sudden break in silence. He hadn't noticed Davy come in.

"Fine, thanks," Mike mumbled in response, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

That was a lie of course. In less than a year so much had happened and it suddenly seemed to be catching up to the Texan. He still hadn't fully recovered from Peter's infection scare and then suddenly Mike had been faced with the dilemma of Micky going missing, something that shouldn't have happened.

"I'm not buying it," Davy said seriously, a frown creasing his brow.

To him, Mike looked tense and a bit too pale. It worried the Englishman. Mike folded his hands into his lap, wishing that maybe Davy would drop the subject. Now wasn't the time for a touchy-feely moment and Mike was hardly in the mood to share his feelings.

"Come on, Mike, what's eating you?" Davy pressed.

"Don't you got something to do?" Mike hit back, wincing a little at the snap to his voice. He hadn't meant to snap.

"You're just sitting on your arse too, mate," Davy retorted, determined not to let Mike weasel his way out of this.

Davy had seen how panicked Mike had looked when they had found out Micky was missing. It had almost seemed that the Texan had been close to hysteria. That isn't to say Davy hadn't felt worried too, although something had told Davy that Micky would be found safely and sure enough that's what had happened, for the most part. And Peter had assumed that Micky had been infected. It had been a panicked moment for all of them, but someone had to make sure the others were okay.

Usually that job fell to Micky. He was the one to go around to Davy, Mike, and Peter and cheer them up or make them express how they felt, to get it all out so that nothing was bottled up. So now with Micky temporarily our of commission, Davy felt that it was up to him to take over for a bit.

"Drop it man, will ya," Mike sighed, shooting Davy a half-hearted glare.

"No, I don't particularly think I will," Davy insisted.

Mike pulled his hat off his head, hands clenching it. It felt familiar and comforting. For a moment there was just silence but then Mike said, "I just thought we'd lost him, you know. Dunno what I'd've done without him." The confession felt weird in Mike's mouth, tasting only a little less sour than a lemon.

"Well, Micky's all safe and sound now," Davy pointed out.

Mike glanced to the couch and studied Micky's sleeping face.

"Yeah, I'm just being silly, thinkin' we're cursed or somethin' on the road an' we should get back to the pad instead of stayin' here for the winter," he mumbled after a moment.

"You think we're cursed?" Davy frowned.

"Naw, I didn't use the right word. It ain't cursed, more luck just some awfully bad luck is followin' us round now that we ain't at the pad," Mike corrected himself.

He felt like a school child, stupid and foolish. There was no such thing as curses or even bad luck, things just happened and that was that. But Mike hadn't been able to shake the feeling since Micky had gone missing.

"Mike, if you think staying here for the winter is a bad idea, we don't have to stay. We can go home," Davy said, staring intently at the Texan.

Mike shifted uncomfortably under his friend's gaze. Realistically, the reasonable option was to stay here. There was food and firewood and the group wouldn't have to search for gas or anything on the long journey home. But there was a foreboding feeling squatting in the middle of his gut. It was a bad feeling, a gut feeling that was telling him if they stayed here something was gonna hit them right where it hurt.

"No," Mike spoke after a brief pause, "No, we gotta stay here so Micky can heal an' all. It'd be pretty dumb to go heading back to the pad."

Davy could tell that Mike was finished talking and wouldn't be talking again about his feelings for some time. At least Davy had gotten something out of him.

"Alright, Mike. If you change your mind, you know we'll follow you to the end of the earth," Davy said and he meant it. Mike knew this and nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

"Come in, Freddie, are you there?" Dr. Rose's voice crackled to life on the radio. Freddie sat up, shaking his head, jerking himself into wakefulness. He picked up the receiver.

"Good morning, Dr. Rose, this is Freddie," the young man mumbled into the receiver.

"Is anyone else around, Freddie?" Dr. Rose questioned.

"No mam, it's one in the morning. We're completely alone," Freddie informed her.

"Good, thank you for staying up so late again, Freddie," said Dr. Rose. A small smile played on Freddie's sleepy features.

"It's no problem," Freddie assured her.

"Alright, well I won't keep you long. Look, I need you to do me a big favour," Dr. Rose began, pausing briefly before continuing, "I need you to get someone, who you can trust, get them to find the immune person that Dr. Wilkins has claimed to have found. I need you to get them to bring you said person, so that you can bring them up to Canada, to where I am. We need to start acting a bit desperate."

The sleep drained from Freddie, and although he felt physically exhausted, his mind was on red alert. Dr. Rose was a rational woman, a practical lady that Freddie admired and looked up to. She never once had lost faith that she would be able to find a cure. So what had happened to make her suddenly decide that desperate actions were necessary?

"Alright, I can do that," Freddie confirmed. He paused a moment, front teeth biting down on his tongue, before saying, "If you don't mind, Dr. Rose, why the rush all of a sudden?"

A crackle of static and then, "I just feel like we're running out of time. We are, I think. We're running out of survivors. Professor Harris, in Sweden, has reported less and less numbers. Rhea has as well. We need a cure."

"I understand," Freddie said numbly, rubbing his hand on his leg, wiping off his sweaty palms.

"Thank you, Freddie," Dr. Rose responded.

It had been four weeks since the gang had settled into Lyn's house. Winter was holding off, which was both a blessing and a curse. Mike wanted to go home and wondered if maybe they should leave. Isaac was on edge, wondering if the odd weather meant a harsh soon-to-be winter. But despite the worry and wonder, things had settled into a nice routine.

Davy felt that, despite the stress this situation put on Mike, things were looking up for Peter. Although he was still crying out in the middle of the night from nightmares, Davy often sat and listened to him play his guitar. Lyn and George enjoyed it very much, and Davy got the sense that Peter was happy, which was more than Davy could say for himself. And Micky's arm was mending quickly, something that everyone was relieved about.

"You know, Tara used to play the drums, in high school," George said, a faint smile playing upon his face.

"Micky plays drums like nobody's business. Maybe they could exchange secrets of the trade," Peter joked. Davy felt better that Peter really seemed to be opening up and acting more like himself, more so then he had in the past year.

"I haven't played in so long, I don't think I could remember anything," Tara admitted.

The group had gathered in the living room, readying themselves for the evening.

"And my arm's still busted," Micky added, raising his arm with the makeshift cast.

"It should be all better soon," Isaac commented.

The conversation continued as Peter strummed out a little tune here and there. Eventually, one by one everyone went up to bed until it was just Mike, Ronda, and Peter.

"I am pleased to see you so talkative, Peter," Ronda commented tentatively, eyes on Peter in order to judge his reaction.

Peter looked up from his bass and smiled brightly at Ronda.

"I am too," he admitted.

"We really deserved some down time, after everything," said Mike, feeling relaxed for once. Things almost felt normal, in that moment.

"Indeed, I think this has been good for the group," Ronda nodded.

"You two make great leaders, you know," Peter complimented. Ronda and Mike gave Peter equally modest looks.

"Being a leader is nothing, as long as ya got a good group of folks together. It ain't just one person," Mike mumbled, feeling awkward. He had never been one for praise. Neither had Ronda.

"Agreed," Ronda nodded her head. Peter just laughed, shook his head, and continued to fool around on his bass. There was a stretch of silence.

"Peter," Ronda began, pausing for a moment before starting again, "Peter, I wanted to ask something."

Peter propped the bass next to him and rubbed his hand under his chin, replying with, "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask you how it felt to… to be infected. I know… you don't have to answer if you do not wanna, I understand, but my wife, I just want peace of mind knowin' she didn't suffer too much, if you understand me," Ronda said slowly, eyes casted towards the floor.

Peter saw Mike tense up physically, the muscles in his body betraying the fear he felt inside. A flash of anger, a wave of sadness, both these emotions and more, some unidentifiable, ran through the Texan in the blink of an eye. But all Peter felt was a cold numbness in the pit of his stomach.

"It felt like hell," Peter answered frankly, "Like your whole body was on fire but on the inside and sometimes you couldn't feel it at all. I don't…" His voice cracked slightly and he coughed to cover it up. He could see Mike's distress and knew Mike didn't want this to continue.

"I don't think it could have been the same for your wife, Ronda. But it probably was just as bad. I'm so sorry about your loss," Peter finished.

Ronda looked at Peter, expressionless, and then a small smile bloomed on her face.

"Thank you, Peter," Ronda murmured. She got up and went over to Peter, leaned down and placed a kiss onto his forehead.

"You're welcome…?" Peter answered, unsure of how to respond.

"Goodnight, then, goodnight, Mike," Ronda said. The two men chorused a goodbye and Ronda went upstairs.

Mike was still tense. He felt a bit sick. He hated thinking about Peter being infected, he just hated it.

"Are you okay, Michael?" Peter asked. Mike swallowed hard and rubbed his hands against his jeans.

"I'm fine, shotgun," Mike replied.

"Mike, did you hate me for getting infected?" Peter blurted suddenly. Mike looked up sharply and instantly said, shocked, "No, Peter, I could never hate you."

Of course, that was true, but not entirely. Mike had felt very conflicted when he had thought Peter had no way out of death. He had felt angry, upset, extremely sad, but most of all he felt disappointed in himself. Mike should have been there for Peter. He should have been the one to be infected, because what if Peter hadn't been immune?

"Okay," Peter nodded his head, "I was just wondering. Because I blame myself sometimes." Mike frowned at that comment.

"Pete, what are your nightmares about? You haven't talked to me about those for a couple of months now," Mike questioned.

In the past, Peter had always come to Mike and they had discussed his nightmares. Mike hadn't minded considering he hadn't been able to sleep, but recently Peter hadn't said a word. Mike had asked Davy if Peter was coming to him, and then Micky, but both men had said that Peter had not.

Peter looked at Mike and Mike was struck by how skinny Peter was. Although he had started to eat better, the year of eating poorly had taken a toll on the bassist. Mike felt his heart hurt at the dullness in Peter's eyes as he stared at Mike directly.

"I dream that I've turned and that I'm hurting you, or Davy, or Micky. It's always different. Sometimes I'm… I'm really busting one of you guys up, or one of you guys are telling me what a monster I am," Peter said coldly. It chilled Mike's blood to hear Peter speak so nonchalant about such horrible dreams.

"But the worst ones are the realistic ones. The ones where I can't tell if I'm awake or asleep. In those ones, Isaac tells me he was wrong and that I'm not immune, that the virus is only taking a really long time to affect me. Then you, Mike, you try to kill me before I turn, but I turn before you can. I infect you first, usually, and then Davy. Isaac, Ronda, and Heather leave and I try to chase after them but Micky shoots me. The look on his face, the pain I see in his eyes, it's what always gets me," Peter continued.

There was a silence that filled the room after Peter finished. Mike stared at Peter, horrified that this was what Peter was dreaming at night. It shouldn't have shocked Mike, not in the least since it was to be expected after everything Peter had gone through, but it still did, Mike couldn't help that.

"I'm sorry, Pete, that's terrible," Mike finally croaked. He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing himself not to cry. Why did he feel the need to cry? He wasn't sure.

"It's okay, Mike, it isn't your fault or anything," Peter told him.

"I'm still sorry, Peter," Mike insisted. Peter ran a hand through his hair and then smiled such a sweet smile at Mike that it almost made his heart hurt more so than the thought of him having nightmares.

"Thanks, Michael," Peter said.

There's was yet another stretch of silence before Mike spoke, saying, "How about we head up to bed? It's late." He needed to get away from this conversation.

"Sounds good to me," Peter agreed, before getting up and putting his guitar back into it's case. Then they went upstairs to bed.

It was later that night when Peter woke up. Unknown to him, it was around three in the morning and, obviously known to him, he needed to pee. So Peter got out of bed- he and Mike had been stationed on the outside of the bed tonight since Davy and Micky had gone to bed before them- and he crept out of the room. He padded down the hallway and went into the bathroom, turning on the light after shutting the door behind him.

Ronda and Davy had hunted around the area to find as many bottles of water as possible and they had indeed found quite a lot. But Lyn had also confessed that the water running through her plumbing was safe since it came from an underground well. No one understood why it worked, but it did, and the group was thankful for that.

Peter relieved his bladder and then washed his hands. The cool water felt good against his palms and so he leaned down, splashing it against his cheeks. The water felt good and he realized how hot he was despite the cold house. Peter straightened up and looked in the mirror.

His heart skipped a beat and his stomach flipped, bile rising in his throat. He began to feel dizzy and horrified. The face staring back at him couldn't be his own, it wasn't his own. The eyes were a milky white, with black veins straining against greying skin. What was looking back at him was an infected.

He had to be asleep. He was having a nightmare… but this had never happened in one of his dreams before. What if it was real? His heart was beating so fast, the blood pounding in his ears. What if it was real?

"Peter!" Davy's voice cut through suddenly, breaking the trance that Peter seemed to be in. He blinked and his reflection was normal, it was him, perfectly fine and healthy looking, if not a bit pale and underweight.

But he wasn't infected.

"Peter, christ, wake up, mate," Davy snapped. He was shaking Peter vigorously, trying to wake him up.

"Davy?" Peter frowned, glancing at the Englishman. Mike was stood in the bathroom doorway, brows knitted together. Micky was yawning but equally concerned looking and Isaac could be seen peeking up from behind his shoulder. The others must have been sent back to their rooms.

"Peter, what's wrong?" Davy asked. Peter glanced back at the mirror. He was still healthy looking. Had he really been dreaming?

"I… I thought I saw… nothing… I just had a scare, I'm sorry for waking everyone up," Peter stumbled for words. He didn't know how his friends would react to him admitting that he thought he was awake when he had seen himself infected in the mirror. Even he was badly shaken up by it, questioning whether or not he was truly free from infection.

"Are you feeling alright, Peter?" Isaac questioned.

"Yeah, I just… I was having a nightmare and I guess I was only half-awake," Peter shrugged.

"Alright, you're better then?" Micky asked.

"Yes, I am, I'm sorry to have woken everyone up," Peter apologized.

"It's okay, shotgun, we just want to make sure you're okay," Mike piped up.

"I'm fine, really," Peter forced a smile.

"Well, I suggest we all go back to sleep then," Isaac mumbled, and Micky was quick to agree. So they went back to their rooms, Isaac and Micky, and a reluctant Mike. But Davy lingered. He saw Peter staring at himself, a hand nearly going to his face as if to check that it was still there.

"Peter, what scared you?" he asked. Peter stared at Davy, eyes wide.

"Something must have scared you pretty awful for you to scream like that," Davy went on, pressing his friend to open up.

"I thought I was infected," Peter hissed after a moment, voice barely audible. Davy felt sick at the fear he saw in Peter's eyes. He had really felt that he was infected. His stomach clenched, anger at the injustice of it all nearly overwhelming him.

"But you aren't infected, Peter. You're here, healthy and happy," Davy assured him, trying to relax his body as well.

"I know," Peter whispered, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. Davy grabbed that hand suddenly, quickly pulling Peter closer to him.

"Peter, do you feel my hand?" he asked. Peter nodded.

"See, you aren't infected. You won't ever be, you are immune. You've got me, and Mike, and Micky to protect you. Isaac and Ronda too. You aren't alone and you don't have to put up some silly barricade and keep us out. You can talk to us, mate," Davy said, looking directly at Peter, who shifted uncomfortably under his friend's gaze despite the comfort it brought him.

"You're alright, Peter," Davy finished.

"Thanks, Davy," mumbled Peter. Davy smiled at the bassist.

"C'mon now, I'm bushed and I'm sure you are too," Davy said before the two of the followed Mike back into their bedroom.

Things were better after that night, for everyone. The first snow came, soft and gentle, unlike how Mike had thought it would turn out, four days later. The group grew closer as they were driven indoors more often than not. Tara made fast friends with Davy, the two talking and chatting constantly. George and Micky entertained Lyn most days, and Mike, Ronda, and Isaac kept an eye on the runnings of things such as supplies and the like. Peter played his guitar every night now, just him, although sometimes Mike joined in on his own guitar.

Heather was an outlier. She was distant and short, preferring to talk with Davy and Tara about weapons and strategy than Lyn, Micky, and George about stories and fantastical ideas. Isaac had voiced his concern about Heather's change in behaviour to Mike, though the Texan told him that she was just adjusting to everything and that he shouldn't worry.

He had felt a change in himself too. There was something wrong with this whole setup. It was too quiet, too peaceful, too normal. They hadn't seen any infected in some time and from being on the road Mike had gathered that things weren't this good for long. Something bad was on the horizon but Mike couldn't quite put his finger on what was going to happen. Some days, he felt he was going crazy, thinking he could somehow feel the future. The Texan gave no hint that he was thinking that either. He had to appear strong and confident in front of his group, especially for the sake of his friends.

Of course, the night that they were ambushed, Mike was singing a different tune.

It was a few days after the first snow. Zak, one of Father Carl's goons, had spotted Davy, Ronda, and Tara out on a patrol. He had sent one of his men to go get Maria and Yaseen, so that they could attack as one unit. It had take days, obviously, but Zak kept track of the group.

Once their forces were gathered, they attacked in the night.

Mike had been violently jerked out of sleep by the sound of breaking glass. He sprung out of bed, causing Davy to do the same. Mike motioned to Davy to wake the others before he crept out of the room and into the hallway. Tara was already outside as well. The two made eye contact and knew that they would look together.

So they crept to the stairs and peered down into the living room. At least three or more beings were looking around. One whispered that they must be upstairs. A cold sense of panic flooded Mike's body, and he pulled Tara back up the stairs. Ronda was there then.

"We have to get everyone out now as quickly and quietly as possible," Mike hissed.

Just as Ronda and Tara were nodding their agreement, someone downstairs, a woman's voice, announced, "All clear". They were going to be coming up the stairs in mere seconds. The trio broke up, racing back to their respective bedrooms.

Mike first went into his room. Davy had gotten Peter up easily but Micky was reluctant to really wake up and get out of bed.

"The church people are coming," Mike hissed into the room before quickly disappearing to go get Lyn out of the house. That woke Micky right up. Mike heard footsteps on the stairs. He had to stay focused. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. He sprinted into Lyn's room and locked the door behind him. How were any of them going to get out of this house?

"Mike, what's going on?" Lyn murmured, sleepily rubbing at her eyes.

"We have to go," Mike stated, yanking the girl out of bed before going to the window and looking down. There was enough snow at the bottom that maybe they would be able to survive if they jumped.

"What's happening?" Lyn repeated, fear shaking her voice this time. Mike opened the window. The doorknob rattled. Lyn sucked in a sharp breath and Mike's heart began to claw at his ribs. Then everything in him went shaky as a gunshot went off and Tara screamed. Lyn shrieked and ran to Mike's side.

There was shouting and more gunshots, and suddenly there was pounding on Lyn's door. They were going to break down the door. Thoughts of his friends tried to dominate his mind, but Mike knew he had to focus on keeping Lyn safe right now.

"You have to jump out the window," Mike said to her suddenly. She was crying now, eyes glued to the door that was nearly off it's hinges.

"What?" she gasped, eyes still focused on the door.

"Jump, for Christ's sake," Mike snapped, pushing the girl towards the open window and nearly pushing her out. But the door gave in and two armed goons entered the room.

"Don't shoot them, Paulie, we've gotta have them as insurance," one of them said upon seeing Peter absent among them.

"Sure, we won't shoot them, but Yaseen never said nothing about having a little fun," the other one, Paulie, smirked, before advancing towards Mike and Lyn, his eyes trained hungrily on Lyn.

Mike knew this man had nothing but bad intentions for Lyn, and he wasn't going to stand by and leave things up to fate and hope that his gut feelings were wrong. The Texan darted forward suddenly and slammed his elbow into Paulie's stomach. Paulie doubled over and dropped his firearm. Seizing the chance, Mike scooped it up and quickly shuffled backwards, aiming at Paulie. The other goon raised his weapon and Paulie grinned at Mike.

"Oh, so you're a fighter, ha ha, well I bet you don't even have the guts to pull that trigger, even if it meant saving your daughter or whoever the hell that fine little number is behind you," Paulie spat.

Lyn had been frozen in fear up until that moment.

"Stuff it," she snapped. Paulie was about to make a remark but then suddenly Mike blinked. He felt himself pull the trigger and he saw Paulie fly back as a bullet hit him in the chest. He felt himself pull the trigger again and he saw the other goon crumple as a bullet hit him in the head. He then realized he was still shooting, still pulling the trigger, still firing upon Paulie.

The firearm began to click empty and Mike dropped the gun. He began to shake and he stared, wide eyed at the two crumpled bodies before him. They were dead. They were dead, oh god, he felt as if he were going to be sick.

"Mike, more of them are coming, what do we do?" Lyn's voice shook him back to the present.

"Out the window," Mike repeated and this time he didn't fuss around. He grabbed the other goon's weapon and then jumped out of the window. He had been right. Mike landed on a pile of snow without harm, although he was very cold. He put aside the firearm and motioned for Lyn to do the same. She did, this time without hesitation. Once they were both safely on the ground, Mike picked up the weapon.

"Mike!" Micky's voice was a sweet relief to hear. Mike looked over and saw Micky waving at him from the garage.

"Get over here, quick!" Micky shouted. Mike and Lyn rushed over. Isaac was in the driver's seat of the Monkeemobile, pulling out of the garage.

"Get in, we're leaving," Micky said, as he opened the door and let Lyn clamber in.

"Where's everyone else?" Mike asked, his whole body shaking at this point. It was too dark for Micky to notice though.

"In the house. Davy wanted to go find Tara and George. They were safe last time I saw them," Micky answered. Mike nodded and went to go back into the house, but Micky grabbed his arm and lugged him inside the Monkeemobile.

"What the hell?" barked Mike, whirling around to stare at Micky.

"Mike, you're shaking? And… is that blood? Mike what happened to you?" Micky demanded.

Before Mike could retort with "I don't matter, they do, let me go back for them" two goons burst through the garage door and Isaac floored it. The car lurched forward, rumbling over the snow.

Inside the house, Ronda and Davy were carrying an injured George out of the back door of the house. Heather and Peter were rushing out after them. There was shouting and the little band rushed out the back. They were running as fast as they could.

The goons were after them soon though.

"He can't go on for much longer, we need to see where he's bleeding from," Ronda pointed out. The longer they ran, the heavier George got.

"Just keep moving for a while longer, I'll handle this," Peter shouted and then pelted away.

"Peter, wait!" Davy shouted, suddenly horrified.

"Davy, we need to keep moving," Heather insisted. Then suddenly they all heard Peter bellow, "Over here, I'm over here, come and get me!"

"Quickly, there!" a goon shouted.

"No, Peter!" Davy shouted, jerking away from George, leaving Ronda to fall to the ground to keep George from falling completely.

Davy was met with a slap in the face.

"You can't go after him, you have to stay here and help," Heather snapped. Davy blinked at her.

"He's sealed his fate," Heather continued but was interrupted with Ronda exclaiming, "Something's happening." Davy and Heather turned to see George convulsing on the snowy ground. Blood was turning the white crimson and there was a lot of it.

"Where's it coming from?" Davy asked. Ronda ripped open Georg's shirt only to find a large gun wound in his side.

"Tara," George moaned suddenly, his body continuing to convulse.

"I think he's going into shock or something," Heather said.

"Help me put pressure on this, give me your jacket," Ronda snapped. Heather shrugged off her jacket and Ronda pressed it onto the wound and Davy helped.

"Davy, your belt, take it off," Ronda instructed. Davy undid his belt and handed it to Ronda, who then tied the leather around George's mid-section, the belt holding pressure on the jacket and wound. She then scooped him up and stood.

"Heather, you know this place better then me or Davy. Where do we go? We need to get out of the cold," said Ronda.

"Right, there's a house I think right up ahead," Heather replied and set a brisk pace forwards.

As the foursome advanced, Davy threw a glance over his shoulder, in the direction that Peter had gone. Part of him wanted to go after his friend, save him from a doomed fate, but the majority of him knew that he wouldn't be able to take on all of those guys by himself and that it if he got captured, it would only spell more trouble for Peter.

Isaac pulled the car over after two hours of driving. Micky felt worried for Mike. Yes, Davy and Peter were out there somewhere, but he knew that Davy would protect Peter, plus they both had Ronda to keep them out of trouble. But in the two hours that they had been driving, Mike had barely said a word. He had revealed, after Lyn had told them her portion of the story, that he had shot and killed two church goons.

But besides the basics, Mike hadn't offered anything more. This worried Micky. Mike looked so small sitting there next to him in the back. He looked small and sad, very much unlike Mike. Isaac took the keys out of the ignition and put them on the dashboard before turning around in his seat.

"Okay, Lyn and I are going to go over to those little shops up ahead and look for some food or something. You two can wait here, make sure we aren't followed. In the morning, we'll go back to the house and go from there," he announced.

"We should go back now," Mike mumbled.

"It'd be too dangerous," Isaac countered, "We need to make sure those goons are gone."

"Isaac's right," Micky said to Mike gently, his brows knitted together. Mike turned his head so that Micky couldn't see his face.

"Alright, c'mon Lyn," Isaac said as he clambered out of the car. Lyn hesitantly exited the Monkeemobile as well.

For a few minutes, Micky didn't say anything, but not for long.

"Mike, I'm sorry I let us split up," he said slowly.

"We were all sleeping in different rooms, we should have been smarter, it wasn't just your fault," Mike replied, through gritted teeth.

"No, not the whole group, I mean like… Peter and Davy. I'm sorry I let them get split up from us, you and me," Micky clarified. Mike turned to Micky. Although it was dimly lit in the car, Micky could have sworn Mike's eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying.

"It ain't your fault, I's the one to split us up," Mike's voice had dropped an octave and had less of a bitter edge to it.

"Well it wasn't your fault either," Micky assured the Texan, and then tentatively added, "And neither was you killing those guys. I mean, Lyn said she knew that one guy wanted to mess her up so… they had it coming, ya dig."

Mike looked down at his lap. Micky couldn't tell if he was getting through or not. There was something knotted sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Ya know, Davy asked me, couple a nights ago, if he was a bad person and I said you ain't bad Davy cos you ain't killed no one yet," Mike said after a moment.

Micky took a shaky breath.

"Do you think you're a bad person now, Mike?" he asked.

Mike didn't respond. Micky knew that perhaps he might be pushing his friend, but he knew it was more important to know that Mike was alright. He had to be alright. Ever since day one, Mike had always been everyone's rock. Micky knew he was troubled, but Mike always was able to put on a brave face. Even when Micky felt he was carrying the group sometimes, he still would always think 'what would Mike do?'.

"Mike?" Micky thought his voice sounded too pleading, not as sure and stable as he wanted it to sound.

"I don't know, Mick," Mike finally answered.

He leaned his head back against the car seat, letting out a long sigh.

"This is all so messed up," he continued, "The infection, those people, us. Everything's all just messed up and I don't know what's right or wrong anymore."

"Well, then I'll tell you," Micky gnawed on the inside of his left cheek, "You saved Lyn. That's all that matters. You've done so much for me, and Peter, and Davy. Even before the infection. You're not a bad guy, Mike. You're one of the good guys."

Mike looked at Micky. Even through the dim lighting, Micky could see the look Mike was giving him. A mixture of defeat and acceptance.

"Yeah, one of the good guys," he repeated, then leaned his head against Micky's shoulder.

Almost instantly, Mike fell asleep. Micky pulled him closer, so that it wasn't uncomfortable for either of them, and waited until Lyn and Isaac returned.

**Author****'****s Note: **Thanks for reading! Okay, so, it's obviously been a LONG while since I've last posted but I think I'm back on track now. I took some time away from this fic because I was hitting writer's block while working on it, so now I think I've worked out the kinks. Hopefully this chapter was an enjoyable one &amp; that people will continue to read this even though it's been a while.


	15. Chapter 15

Davy cracked his eyes open, squinting against the dimming light shining in from the window. He had fallen asleep in the living room of the home that Heather had lead them to. Rubbing his head, feeling the ache in his body, Davy corrected himself. He hadn't fallen asleep, no, he had passed out.

Last night and into the earlier hours of the morning had been tense. Stressful. Ronda had instructed Heather and Davy, tasking them with getting this or doing that. She had said something about getting a bullet out and stitching George up.

Throughout the whole night, Davy couldn't help but wish that Isaac were here. He had faith in Ronda, there was no doubt about that, however Ronda herself had told him at some point that she hoped this worked for she felt George needed more than what she could provide.

A hospital would have suited him better, they could all agree with that but there weren't any hospitals anymore. Davy suppressed a yawn and wondered when he'd passed out. Was George alright?

"Morning," Heather startled Davy just a little.

The younger girl looked exhausted and, for the first time in some time, she looked so very young. It took Davy by surprise. Davy nodded his acknowledgement.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"You fell asleep around nine, it's almost about six in the evening. Sun will be down soon," Heather replied.

"Should have woken me up," Davy protested.

"Ronda thought it'd best that you sleep," Heather shrugged.

Davy opened his mouth to ask about George, but Heather already anticipated this question.

"George is fine, for now," Heather continued, "Ronda got the bullet out and stitched George back up. He lost a lot of blood though and she says there's hope but he might not make it."

"He'll make it. If he can survive through whatever happened to his arm, then he can survive this," Davy reassured her, although it was more meant to comfort himself rather than the younger, "Has Peter-"

"He hasn't shown up," Heather cut him off.

A sickening feeling began to coat Davy's stomach. Nausea. Perhaps it was merely because he hadn't had anything to eat in a while. But mostly, he thought, it was because he had no way of knowing whether if Peter, Micky, and Mike were safe.

"Yet. Peter hasn't shown up yet," Ronda appeared beside Heather, her voice a welcomed comfort, "He is a good, strong boy. He will be alright, Davy."

Davy smiled at Ronda, appreciating Ronda's optimism.

"So what do we do now?" Davy asked.

Without Mike, Davy felt that Ronda was now the leader. Not that they weren't a team, but every team needed someone capable of keeping the team on task. On track. Giving them a goal to reach.

"We cannot move George until he is better," Ronda stated, "He is in too far of an unstable condition to be moved. If he pulls through the next few days, he'll live and perhaps a few days after that has been determined, we will be able to move him. But until then, I can't say he'll make it."

"What about the others? We'll have to regroup somehow," Heather pointed out.

"Mike will go back to the house," Davy said.

"You sure?" Heather frowned.

"Yes, he knows it's the only place that's close enough that we all now. He will assume I've thought of the same thing and I know that if Mike isn't with Isaac and Micky, then Micky will think of the same thing," Davy nodded his head.

"Then we will go back to the house. It is a good idea," Ronda agreed.

"What about… what about Tara?" Heather asked, a queasy look crossing her face.

Throughout last night, he had hardly had time to think about Tara. When the goons had attacked, one of them had cornered Tara and George. Davy had burst into the room just as the church goon had fired his weapon. Tara had pushed George behind her, the instinct to protect her little brother kicking in. It had gone right through her, into George.

She hadn't even screamed. Her eyes had made contact with Davy, her mouth opening into an "oh" of surprise. Then she had crumpled to the floor. George had been covered in her blood, he himself bleeding. Davy had been rooted to the spot. If it hadn't been for Ronda coming into the room the moment after, Davy would have been hurt himself.

"Davy?" Heather's voice sounded distant for a moment and then Davy was slammed back into the present.

The nausea was too much and he quickly leaned over the chair in which he sat, vomiting onto the floor. Ronda quickly closed the gap between herself and the Englishman. She placed her hand upon his back, rubbing up and down.

"I'll… go get some towels," Heather had to get out before she too vomited.

The moment passed and Davy felt better, but he was also quite embarrassed. Ronda's hand was still rubbing his back.

"Bollocks, I'm sorry, I… didn't mean to have that happened," he apologized.

Heather returned and Davy insisted he mop up his mess.

"It's alright, Davy," Ronda assured him, "Things are still catching up to all of us."

"We should go back to the house, bury Tara proper," Davy said after a moment.

"Of course we will give Tara the send off she deserves," Ronda agreed.

"Should we wait until George is better? Until we at least have everyone back together?" Heather frowned, "I mean… Tara was his sister. We're going to have to tell him sometime."

Davy didn't want to tell George about Tara. He didn't want Tara to be dead. It wasn't fair. Not in the least, but there was nothing Davy could do. Not now. It was all in the past.

"Let us worry about that tomorrow. We should eat and then get some rest. Tomorrow, you and Davy can head back to the house to see if the others came back, and to see about Tara. We should not leave George alone, just in case anything is to happen to him," said Ronda.

"That sounds like a good plan, Ronda. I'm starving," Heather commented, "I'll go see about some soup. I spotted some in the kitchen."

Heather disappeared into the kitchen. Ronda glanced at Davy.

"You should eat something," she said.

"I just threw up," Davy pointed out, glancing at the sick covered towels on the floor that he would have to take care of.

"Yes, that is true, however you have not eaten in a while, none of us have, and we have all expended much energy in the past few hours. You should eat something," Ronda insisted.

Davy thought about Peter. Was Peter eating something right now? Where was Peter? What about Micky, or Mike? Were they eating? How could Davy eat when he didn't know if his friend's were able to eat?

"I'll try," Davy said to Ronda, which seemed to pacify her.

Despite his words, it was a lie. Davy didn't have the stomach to eat right now. His mind was too preoccupied with what fate had in store for his friends and the images of Tara dying over and over.

The sunlight filtered in through the haphazardly closed blinds. It was a warm sunlight, pale and watery just like it always was in the mornings. Peter sat up, arms stretching high up above his head as he stretched both those appendages and his back out. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Peter realized he was in his room.

Back at the pad. Davy's bed was across the room. It was just like normal. The covers were pulled to the end and the sheets were a bit ruffled. The thought of how Peter had gotten here flitted briefly through the bassist's mind, yet it was so fleeting that Peter barely registered it at all.

Clambering out of bed, Peter pulled on a pair of pants and a button up shirt from his closet before heading out of the room. Micky and Davy were sitting on the lounge chair, staring at each other. They seemed quite invested in the activity. A frown creased Peter's brow. He approached his friends, who continued to merely sit on the lounge chair, staring at each other.

"Hey, guys, what're you doing?" Peter queried.

"What d'ya mean?" Micky countered.

Micky and Davy continued to stare at one another, neither bothering to look over at Peter.

"Are you having a staring contest?" Peter asked.

"No, we're just having a quiet sit here on the lounge chair," Davy replied.

Peter wasn't sure if they were blinking. Were they? He couldn't tell. He assumed they were blinking but… Peter wasn't sure.

"Oh," Peter simply said.

"Peter, buddy, want to go down to the beach?" Micky asked.

Peter must have blinked because one moment Micky and Davy were staring at each other, both sitting on the lounge chair. But the next moment, they were both standing, the lounge chair missing from the living room area.

"I'm not in my swimming trunks," Peter stated.

"Yes you are," Davy countered.

Peter looked down at himself. Instead of the button up shirt and the pants, he had on his orange swimming trunks.

"Oh," Peter said again.

He looked back up at Davy and Micky.

"But you guys don't have your swimming trunks on," Peter pointed out.

"What d'ya mean, big Pete?" Micky frowned.

"Course we got our swimming trousers on, Peter," Davy agreed.

Peter must have blinked yet again because one moment his two friends were fully clothed, and then the next they were in their swimming trunks.

Yet again, Peter simply said, "Oh."

Was there something off about all of this? Had his friends painted the pad a different color, maybe one shade lighter than it originally was, during the night? Somehow, Peter felt that things weren't exactly right. As if everything in the pad was shift three centimeters to the left, throwing him off entirely.

"Peter," said Davy.

"Yeah?" Peter frowned.

"So, do you want to go swimming?" Micky asked.

"Sure, I guess it makes sense, if we're in our swimming trunks and all that. Might as well," Peter finally answered.

"Groovy," Davy grinned.

Simultaneously, Micky and Davy walked to the back door. Peter followed them, his mind wondering what had happened. He vaguely remembered a feeling of danger, of despair. He vaguely remembered monsters, being a monster himself. His friends in danger, an infection, George was bleeding out.

"Pete, buddy, old pal, you in there?" Micky's voice jolted Peter from his thoughts.

They were at the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping at Peter's bare feet. It was a friendly invitation into the water. Davy was already out quite far, doing little laps, like he always did.

"I'm here," Peter answered, feeling very confused.

"Something wrong, Peter?" Micky questioned.

"I just… I feel like I'm missing something, Micky. Forgetting something, you dig," Peter rubbed his cheek, "Like it's right there, in the back of my mind, but it's too foggy to see clearly."

"Oh, you're only forgetting about the gig," Micky beamed, as if Peter's problem had been completely solved.

"Gig?" yet again Peter frowned.

"Yeah, gig. The gig of all the gigs. The gig that'll either make us or break us," Micky nodded his head.

"I didn't know about any gig," Peter protested, hands rubbing up and down his arms.

How had he forgotten a gig? That would make or break the band? How had he forgotten anything like that?

"Yeah, it's no big deal," Micky shrugged.

"No big deal? Mick, we should be practicing!" Peter couldn't understand why Micky was so calm about all of this.

Micky laughed. It was a playful one, a friendly one, yet Peter couldn't help but feel like Micky's laugh was hollow. Or monotone. Maybe both. He wasn't sure.

"Nah, babe, we don't need to practice. You do," Micky said after the laugh subsided.

"Me? What are you talking about?" Peter demanded.

"The gig's all up to you," Micky explained, "Go talk to Mike. He's up at the pad, in our room. He'll tell you all about it."

"Okay," Peter said, although there was a tiny voice in his head saying that nothing about what Micky just told him made sense.

"Bye, Peter!" Davy waved at him from the ocean.

"Bye," Peter said to him.

As Micky made his way out to Davy, Peter turned around and walked up the wooden stairs, back up to the pad. He'd have to go talk to Mike about this gig. What had Micky meant by it was all up to him? It took him no time at all to get back up to the pad. Standing besides the stairs that lead up to Micky and Mike's room was Mr. Schneider. He waved. Peter waved back.

"Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy," Mr. Schneider said to Peter.

"Thank you," Peter said in return.

"Ludwig van Beethoven," Mr. Schneider said, sourcing his quote.

"Thank you," Peter said again.

Mr. Schneider waved again and then walked away, heading towards the kitchen. Peter watched him go for a moment, wondering how exactly the dummy was able to that. Then he returned back to the task at hand. He had to talk to Michael. Quickly walking up the stairs, Peter knocked on the door to Mike and Micky's room.

"C'mon in," Mike answered.

Peter opened the door and entered. Mike was sat cross legged on his bed, his guitar in his lap. He was plucking away at some odd little sequence of chords. Peter sat down on Micky's bed.

"Hiya, shotgun," Mike greeted, giving him a comforting smile.

Peter beamed back at Mike. There was a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, spreading out from there to his arms and legs.

"Hi, Mike," Peter replied.

Mike strummed out another series of chords.

"Something you need to talk about, Pete?" Mike wondered.

"Yeah, uh, Micky and Davy were talking about this gig. A make it or break it gig. That, um, well they said it was all up to me. And I was wondering, uh, what they meant by that?" Peter questioned.

"Aw, Pete, they got the right idea," Mike began, "See, this gig's all up to you. Me and Mick and Davy, well we ain't apart of this gig. This one's all to yourself."

"Like a solo music career?" Peter frowned, a hand absentmindedly rubbing at his cheek.

He didn't want a solo music career. He loved being in the band, he loved being a Monkee.

"Naw, Peter, that ain't it. This ain't a music gig," Mike corrected, strumming away still at his guitar.

"Then what is it? What sort of gig is it?" Peter was very confused at this point.

"You got two choices, shotgun," Mike explained, "That's the sorta gig this is. Ya got the choice to stay here, where you won't feel no pain no more and ya can do 'bout anything ya like. Or ya can choose to wake up, Peter. Where there'll be lots of pain and disappointment."

The choice seemed pretty straightforward to Peter. The option that involved no pain would be his choice. But there was a nagging catch.

"If I stay here, I'll be with you and Davy and Micky, right?" Peter asked.

Mike put his guitar off to the side. He stared across at Peter, a sigh escaping the Texan.

"Pete, you ain't thick. You're real smart. But you ain't figured out where you are yet," Mike informed him.

"Where I am?" Peter repeated.

"Yeah," Mike confirmed.

Peter hardly needed to think about it. He had known from the start where he was. It just never occurred to him until now to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes. It was snowy, the ground cold. Peter was cold, very cold, but he was also hot, very hot. His whole body ached, but it was his legs that were on fire.

He was being chased. For how long he had been running, he didn't know, but he finally had a lead on those who were chasing him. Maybe he had finally lost them. Then he was falling, sliding down a long hill. He tumbled head first, then there was a sharp pain on his forehead. Then he had seen nothing but darkness.

Then he had woken up in the pad. But that wasn't true. Peter opened his eyes.

"I'm dreaming," Peter stated.

"Right, shotgun," Mike smiled gently.

Mike picked his guitar back up and resumed the odd sequence of chords he had been playing when Peter had originally entered the room.

"So… I have to wake up to be with Micky, Mike, and Davy. The real ones," Peter said, at this point talking to himself.

"Yeah, but you'll also have to deal with everything else that comes with wakin' up," Mike pointed out.

"But if I stay here…," Peter trailed off.

"You'd die," Mike finished, "But you wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore."

There was a moment of silence, the only sound being Mike's guitar as he continued to pluck out a tune.

"You guys need me," Peter declared, "I can't just leave you guys. I'm going to wake up."

"Alright, shotgun," Mike nodded his head.

"Okay," Peter said. Then, everything seemed to melt away.

As soon as Mike woke up, he began to panic. Micky wasn't in the room. Mike didn't even remember heading to a motel, let alone getting into a room. Micky was nowhere to be seen and, despite the rational voice in his head telling him that everything was fine, Mike couldn't help but think that Micky was in trouble.

"Micky? Micky!" Mike leapt out of bed, frantically looking around to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon.

Micky might need him to fight them to safety. He needed to find Micky. Just as he spotted a tire iron he could use as a weapon, the motel door opened and in rushed Micky.

"Micky!" Mike gasped, quickly going to the drummer and wrapping him in a hug.

Micky hugged Mike back.

"It's okay, Mike, I'm here, I'm okay," Micky informed him, before pulling away and leading Mike back to his bed.

They sat down and Micky unslung a bag from his shoulder. Mike hadn't noticed the bag. Micky rummaged around in it for a moment before pulling out a muffin.

"Look what I found at the reception area, or whatever it's called," Micky grinned, handing the muffin to Mike, who reluctantly accepted it, "It's banana, I think, but I'm not entirely sure."

"I'm not that hungry, Micky," Mike said.

He felt too worried to eat. They needed to find the others. They needed to find Davy and Peter.

"C'mon, Mike, you gotta eat, babe. You haven't eaten since last night," Micky pointed out.

"I'm not hungry," Mike repeated, hoping Micky wouldn't push the issue.

"Michael, eat the muffin. Eat it for me? Please?" Micky pleaded.

Mike looked at the muffin in his hand, then up to Micky.

"Fine," he sighed and to prove it, he peeled the paper off the bottom of the muffin and took a bite.

It was indeed a banana muffin, unless Mike wasn't remembering the taste of a banana muffin correctly. Micky grinned, clearly happy to see Mike eat.

"So when are we moving out? Going back to the house to try to find the others?" Mike questioned as he ate the muffin.

"We'll talk about that later," Micky assured him.

Mike swallowed the food in his mouth, the stirrings of anger furrowing his brows.

"Let's talk about it now. We gotta find Peter and Davy," Mike stated, if not a bit angrily.

"I want to find them just as much as you do, Mike, but let's talk about that later," Micky insisted, "For now, let's talk about how you're feeling."

Mike gritted his teeth. He didn't want to talk about his feelings. They didn't have time for that. The more time they spent wasting, the more likely Davy and Peter could be dead.

"Look, babe, I know you hate talking about yourself but… it won't be that bad," Micky tried to reassure his friend, although Mike was hardly listening to him in that moment, "So I'll tell you what I think you're feeling. Then all you have to do is confirm."

That got Mike's attention. He looked at Micky, although Micky turned his gaze to the window. The blinds were closed.

"I think you're ready to get back on the road, ready to regroup with the others and go back to the pad," Micky began, "But I also think you're tired. You're feeling confused about taking another person's life, you're worried sick about Davy and Peter. You're blaming yourself for everything that went wrong. And, I think Mike, you're tired of being the leader."

Mike picked at the banana muffin, a trickling of of unwanted realization washing over him. Micky was hitting too close to home, was too right about how Mike felt. He didn't like it.

"But, Mike, you're forgetting that we aren't, like, an army, man. We're a family. And sure, you can lead us whenever and however you like, but that doesn't mean you can't… take a break. Let someone else lead for a little bit. You can… Mike, you can lean on others during the tough times because one person doesn't have to shoulder the weight of the world," Micky continued, "You don't have to shoulder everything, Michael."

Mike popped the last bite of muffin into his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowing slowly.

"And I think that you're blaming yourself for everything, Mike, but that's crazy. Like, man, I blame myself for everything that's happened so far too. I blamed myself for Peter getting infected and I blamed myself for letting Lyn literally kidnap me. I blamed myself for not doing a better job of keeping the group together. But each time, I thought of what you'd say to me, you'd tell me that none of that could be my fault," Micky said at length, "And I think you need someone to tell you that, too. You can't blame yourself, Mike. Because none of this, none of it, could have been predicted. You couldn't have predicted all of this. I couldn't have. It just happened. There is no one to blame. You just have to keep moving forward."

It was taking a lot of Mike's willpower not to cry. He didn't want to cry in front of Micky. He needed to be strong. But after he finished speaking, Micky looked at Mike and placed an arm around his shoulder. That was the point in which Mike gave up trying not to cry. It reminded him too much of his Aunt Kate, the only woman who mattered to Mike family wise.

He wondered if she was still alive, still out there, fighting the good fight. She would be proud of him, for leading his friends this far. She'd be proud of him for keeping his friends together. Everything Mike had built up around the things he didn't want to think about fell to pieces right then. He leaned his head against Micky's shoulder and sobbed.

At first, Micky was taken by surprise. He was shocked. He'd never seen Mike cry before, not actually seen with his own two eyes. Of course, over the year of the outbreak, Micky had heard Mike crying early in the mornings when he thought Micky was asleep. But he had never actually seen Mike cry.

The initial shock of seeing someone so strong break down finally passing, Micky instinctively wrapped his arms around Mike, bringing the Texan into a strange, half hug. Mike clung to Micky, clung to him as if at any moment gravity would stop working and if he didn't hold tight, Mike would float off into space.

Mike felt Micky's hand stroking his hair, reminding him even more about Aunt Kate. It reminded him of nights when Peter would come into their room, crying about his dreams, and Mike would comfort him, almost exactly how Micky comforted Mike now. This lasted for a few minutes, although to Mike it seemed like hours had passed. Eventually, Mike pulled away from Micky and stood up, quickly wiping away the tears left on his cheeks. He apologized to Micky, embarrassment setting in now that the moment had passed.

"No need to apologize, man, I'm… glad you let that out. It makes me less worried about you," Micky confessed.

Mike picked up the green wool hat, the one that Aunt Kate had made him some years prior, and positioned it on top of his head.

"Can I ask you something?" Mike wondered, fingers lingering on his hat.

"Course, always," Micky replied.

"You remember my Aunt Kate, right?" Mike asked.

Micky's face scrunched up in thought before he said, "Yeah, I do. She was very nice."

"Do you think… do you think she's still alive? I mean, I don't know, I was just wondering, I suppose, what you thought," Mike felt out of place asking Micky about this.

"I do believe she's alive," Micky answered, almost as soon as Mike had finished speaking, "I think she's alive and kicking infected butt."

Mike smiled a bit at this comment. It made it easier for Mike to lie to himself that of course, there was no doubt that Aunt Kate was alive. Before either Monkee could say another word, there was a knock on the motel door and Isaac appeared.

"Is this a bad time?" he queried.

"No, what's up?" Mike replied.

Isaac stepped into the room, keeping the door ajar.

"I thought it best to discuss our next move," Isaac explained, "The sooner we regroup with the others, the sooner we can move on from last night."

"We'll have to go back to the house," Mike stated.

"Yeah, it's the only place we all know," Micky agreed.

"Alright, that sounds like a plan," Isaac put in his two cents, "However, we should wait a day, perhaps, to make sure that there is no chance we will run into any of those church goers again."

Mike wanted to protest, but he was too tired to argue. He sat down on the bed again, waiting for Micky to decide whether or not to argue with Isaac.

"I second that, it'll only give us more trouble if we run into those guys again," Micky nodded his head.

It was decided then. Mike felt oddly satisfied that he didn't need to contribute to the decision.

"Then we'll go tomorrow," he said.

"Lyn is most appreciative to you and what you did for her last night," Isaac informed Mike, out of the blue.

Thinking about last night made Mike's legs feel numb. He wasn't entirely sure why, but it happened.

"I'm just glad I was able to protect," Mike admitted.

"I think we're all glad," Isaac offered him a small smile.

Freddie kept trying to reach his informat. She wasn't entirely the most reliable source but she got around, knew a lot of survivors on West Coast, the area in which Dr. Wilkins had found the unnamed immune. Around nine, she finally picked up the radio.

"Hi," she greeted in a long, drawn out tone of voice.

"Bunny, I need your help," Freddie informed her, immediately jumping into the thick of what he wanted.

"Need my help? Something personal, Fred," Bunny giggled.

A red flush colored Freddie's cheeks.

"No, not that sort of help, Bunny. I need your help finding someone," Freddie explained.

"Oh, I see, it's that sort of thing. You owe me a kiss, my sweet prince," Bunny sing-songed.

"I need you to find someone who is immune. As in, someone who can't get infected," Freddie informed her.

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes peeled, baby. I'll call if I find anything," Bunny agreed.

His comment had sobered her up a bit, or at least that's how it sounded to Freddie on his end.

"Thank you, Bunny," said Freddie.

"No, thank you, baby," Bunny murmured. Then the radio line went dead. Bunny had signed off.

Freddie leaned back in his chair, pressing his hands against his eyes. The world was slowly falling apart around him and he felt so helpless.

When Peter opened his eyes, he was first greeted by an immense pain in his head. He tried to sit up, but the room began to violently spin, so he laid back down. Unknown to him, he let out a groan.

"Lawrence, Bunny, he's awake," a strange, male voice announced.

Peter's vision cleared and he saw a black haired man kneeling next to him. His heart leapt into his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He'd surely been captured by the church goons. He was going to die.

"Hey man, you're head hurt?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Peter said, his body tense as he waited for the moment of death.

"Hold on," the man said and leaned over to his left.

He straightened himself in a moment, a syringe in hand. Peter must have looked frightened because the man's features softened.

"It's okay, buddy, it's just some morphine. You have a nasty wound on your forehead and you got a bullet graze on your shoulder," the man informed him, bending down and grabbing Peter's arm.

He pulled up the sleeve of Peter's sweater, found a vein, and then injected Peter with the morphine. Almost immediately Peter's pain disappeared. A girl appeared behind the man, another man standing next to her.

"Hiya there, stranger. I'm Bunny, that's Kitty, and this is Lawrence," the girl introduced themselves.

"Peter," Peter said, figuring that they most likely posed him no threat.

If they were church goons, he'd be dead by now. Lawrence made some gestures with his hands and then Bunny returned with some gestures. Sign language.

"Lawrence would like to know if you would like some water," Bunny informed Peter.

"Uh, yes,thank you," Peter replied.

Bunny translated and Lawrence nodded before disappearing.

"So, Peter, why were there a lot of armed folks after you?" Kitty asked.

"They want me dead. Because they think I'm someone I am not," Peter explained.

Kitty and Bunny exchanged looks. They giggled, Bunny's hand brushing against Kitty's shoulder.

"That's some heavy stuff, man," Bunny commented.

Peter found himself smiling. It occurred to him that these two were high. They probably took morphine too. Peter didn't blame them, who could blame anyone for wanting to escape this hellish reality.

"I know, but it's their hangup, not mine," Peter said.

"True," Kitty agreed.

Lawrence reappeared then, a glass of water in his hand. He handed it to Peter. Peter smiled his thanks and quickly gulped down the water. Once he was finished, Peter handed the empty cup back to Lawrence.

"So, you've been all patched up, but maybe there's brain damage. We just don't know," Bunny tried to suppress a laugh as she spoke.

"But good old Lawry here, he patched you up. He's a nurse, you know. Or was," Kitty interjected.

Peter was glad to know that at least someone with some basis in medicine had patched him up, no offense to Kitty or Bunny.

"Thank you," Peter said, "Thank you for helping me."

Bunny moved her hands again, translating what Peter said for Lawrence. Lawrence made motions and then Bunny said, "He says you're welcome."

Peter sat up slowly. This time, the room did not spin.

"I have to go," Peter announced.

He had to go back to the house. He had to find the others again. He had to regroup with them.

"Whoa, Peter, you can't go anywhere yet!" Kitty exclaimed.

"Why not?" Peter frowned.

"Those guys who want you dead, they're still hanging around," Bunny explained.

"You gotta wait until they're gone, else you'll end up with a cap in your ass," Kitty agreed.

Lawrence tapped Bunny on the shoulder and signed something. Bunny signed back. Ten Lawrence signed something again.

"Stay here for the night. In the morning, those guys will be gone and then we'll help you get back to wherever you're itching to get back to," Bunny said, tilting her head back towards Lawrence, "He insists."

Peter rubbed at his cheek, his hand moving from there to the small of his neck.

"Alright, deal," he agrees.

Whatever happened, there was safety in numbers. Without the others, Peter needed new numbers and despite the drug use, these three seemed nice enough.

"Groovy, man!" Kitty grinned from ear to ear, "Get some sleep."

Peter nodded and he laid back down. It only then occurred to him that he was laying on a bed. His eyelids were too heavy all of a sudden and he had to close them. The last thing he thought of before falling into unconsciousness were his friends. He hoped they were okay.

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope it was enjoyable. This was a really fun chapter for me to write, since I loved writing the dream scene in this chapter AND I got to introduce three new characters. Hopefully the next update will be either this week or this weekend, one of the other, but I can't promise anything. I really hope that everyone out there reading this is enjoying it! Please, feel free to leave a comment, as those are always very appreciated and I read every single one of them! So you can leave criticism, praise, or even questions, and depending on the comment, I'll respond here. Thank you to everyone who's commented so far &amp; given such inspiration for me to continue. Although I write for myself, I also write for you guys. I also wanted to thank everyone who didn't give up entirely on this fic despite such a long hiatus. So, thank you everyone for reading and I hope all of you have a wonderful day! :)


	16. Chapter 16

Davy made breakfast that morning. It was just oatmeal, and Davy hardly ate any of it, but he did make it. Ronda ate a good amount, as did Heather. Since he hardly wanted to eat, Davy offered to feed George, who had woken up last night. Ronda had told them that this was a good sign.

George was upstairs, in one of the two bedrooms up there. He was laid on the bed, a cover hiding the lower half of his body. The room was bright and it made George look so pale. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Davy ate a spoonful of the oatmeal he had brought upstairs with him. Just to test it out.

It wasn't too hot but it wasn't too cold either.

"George?" Davy called out.

Time to wake him up. At first, Davy thought that George wouldn't wake. Maybe he had died in the night. But then his eyes opened and he let out a low groan.

"I brought you breakfast. It's oatmeal," Davy informed him.

"Delicious," George mumbled, half-heartedly.

Davy placed the bowl of oatmeal onto the bedside table.

"I'm going to have to prop you up, George," Davy said gently.

George shut his eyes but nodded his consent. Ronda had shown both Davy and Heather how to feed George and provide him water last night. Although he could use his arms, Ronda advised that he be as still as possible in order for him to recover quicker. Even if it didn't help, at least there was less of a chance of George popping stitches or anything.

Davy propped him up. George screwed his eyes shut as the movement hurt his side. Then, Davy picked the bowl of oatmeal back up. He began to feed George, who seemed more interested in going back to sleep than anything else.

"Is everyone else alright?" George asked after a few spoonfuls of oatmeal.

"Hmm?" Davy frowned, not entirely sure what George was asking.

"Everyone else. They okay? Tara, is she okay? Lyn? Micky?" George expanded, eating another spoonful.

Davy was glad he hadn't eaten. His stomach flipped and it took willpower not to clench his hands into fists. Pushing away the anger, the worry, Davy forced a smile.

"They're fine. Everyone's just fine, George," the lie slipped out easier than Davy would have expected it to.

Davy didn't want to outright lie to George. No, he hated lying, but… how on earth could Davy tell George that his sister was dead? That, out of all of them, Tara might be the only one of them who died? Davy just couldn't do that, not to George right now at the very least. But outright lying didn't settle well with Davy. What else could he have done though? George smiled at Davy.

"Good, that's good," he said, "Do… is it okay if I sleep some more? I'm just… very tired."

"Course, get some rest," Davy nodded his head.

He helped George lay back down, tucking him into bed before exiting the room. Going downstairs, he ran into Ronda.

"We must discuss today's tasks," she said.

"Okay," Davy was just glad to be away from George.

Ronda must have noticed something different about Davy, although despite the conflicting thoughts in his head, Davy didn't think he was acting any different.

"Is George alright?" she questioned.

"He's fine. He ate a little but mainly wanted to sleep. He… he asked about Tara and the others. I told him that… that they were all okay," Davy answered, "I just didn't know what else to tell him."

Davy expected Ronda to tell him off. Criticize him for lying to George. Yet Ronda didn't.

"I would have done the same thing," she told him, "He needs to focus on recovering. We can't stay here forever, not after what happened last time. If he knows about Tara or the fact that we're split up now, he will focus his energy instead on worry and grief. He will know soon enough. He will grieve soon enough. But for now, he must rest."

Ronda placed her hand upon Davy's shoulder and squeezed. Davy smiled at her, grateful for her reassurance.

"Guys! Everything alright? We should get a move on," Heather's voice drifted in from the kitchen.

"We're coming," Ronda called back.

When Peter woke up, he felt very stiff. In fact, not only did he feel stiff, but he felt sore and achey, all over. Peter felt horrible, but he knew that he couldn't rest any longer. Right now, he needed to get back to the others as soon as possible.

Sitting up, his back cracked, but he didn't feel dizzy. It wasn't like yesterday when he had woken up and the room had spun like some sort of circus ride. Though his whole body ached, there was still a dull pulse of pain in his left shoulder. The bullet graze. Peter realized that he wasn't wearing his own clothes.

The t-shirt and jeans he wore were most likely either Lawrence or Kitty's clothes. His own clothes must have been soaked and bloodied. Looking around, Peter finally had a good sense of where he was. In a furnished home, although neglected as where many of the homes these days. There were several mattresses in this room, what Peter assumed was the living room. Peter was sitting on one. Lawrence was curled up under a blanket a few feet away from him on another. Bunny and Kitty were nowhere in sight. But as Peter stood up and crept quietly to the hallway, he heard talking from the kitchen.

"Freddie called last night, before we picked up the fella," Bunny was saying.

"What'd Freddie want?" Kitty asked.

It sounded as if Bunny's words were news to him.

"Said he needed us to find someone," Bunny replied, "Special someone, a someone who is immune."

"Immune?" Kitty repeated, as if he didn't believe what Bunny was telling him.

"Yeah, immune. Guessing like to the whole infection thing," Bunny explained.

Peter's heart began to beat a little faster in his chest at the mention of himself, though neither Kitty or Bunny could know that he was immune. He hadn't told them. There was nothing that could give away his position.

"Why's he lookin' for an immune? Are there even immune people out there?" Peter could hear the frown in Kitty's tone.

"Freddie didn't say much about it, I don't ask questions," Kitty snapped. There was a pause after that.

"Sorry… I just… need a fix but… but Kitty, this seems important. If there is someone immune out there, and Freddie wants them, then maybe there really is someone immune out there. And that means that Freddie's doctor can do something to fix the world," Bunny said at length.

"Heavy," Kitty responded.

"Ass," Bunny sounded disappointed.

"What's your hang up man?" Kitty said in his defence.

"My hang up, man, is that you don't care. You get high, zone out, and it's me and Lawrence looking out for you and each other. Even when there's a shot that maybe, just maybe, this hell will be over, you're all gone," Bunny answered.

It struck Peter as unreal, this whole situation. For so long now, he had only been able to see things from his group's point of view. Never had it occurred to him to wonder what it must be like for other survivors out there.

"Mellow out, Bunny," Kitty giggled and then Peter heard footsteps.

Since Peter was in the hall, when Kitty exited the kitchen, he came face to face with Peter. The other, slightly smaller man broke out into a grin and clapped Peter on his good shoulder.

"Morning there, fella," Kitty greeted, unaware that Peter had been eavesdropping in on the previous conversation, "You should eat up, right. We're going on the road soon."

"Right," Peter nodded, although part of him wondered if perhaps he should slip away from these people.

Kitty just continued to grin as he made his way down the hall. With his presence announced at this point, Peter decided it'd be for the best to enter the kitchen now. So he did. Bunny had a mug in her hand.

"Is that tea?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, would you like some?" Bunny offered.

"Sure," Peter nodded.

He wondered if Davy was drinking tea right now. He hoped that Davy was drinking tea. That would mean that he was okay. Bunny fixed Peter a cup, handing it to him after she had done so.

"Kitty's waking up Lawrence now, we'll be leaving soon," Bunny informed him as Peter sipped at the tea.

Peter decided that Davy made better tea. It didn't matter that much now though.

"Where are we heading anyways, man?" Bunny asked after a moment.

"I'm… not sure. My friend's are back in the cul de sac, on Munro Street," Peter replied, looking down into the dark contents of his mug.

Tea was better with milk and sugar. That's how Davy made it. Peter needed to get back to his friends.

"That's not too far away. A few miles," Bunny gave Peter a strange look, "You ran a pretty long way from those guys. What'd they want with you anyways? You piss them off or something?"

"I didn't do anything to them," it wasn't exactly a lie, "They just came after me."

Bunny finished off the last of her tea, tossing the cup into the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. Her hands then began to move and Peter turned to see that Lawrence had entered the kitchen.

"We'll be ready soon," Bunny informed him.

The long stretch of silence that was essentially the walk back to the house made Davy on edge. The silence made him feel as if he were going to be attacked at any moment. Maybe he was just still wired after the attack. He didn't know. The house itself looked empty, desolate. Davy wondered if it had always been like that.

Prior to the attack it had seemed so homely, warm and bright. It might have not been the pad, but Davy had felt as if it had become a second home. Now, however, it was just squatting there, doors open and several windows broken. Davy could trace their movements from the other night via the trail of blood George had provided.

Heather entered the home but Davy stood on the threshold. The younger paused in the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Davy.

"You okay?" she asked.

Earlier, back at the new home where George and Ronda were now, Ronda had protested Davy's accompaniment back to the home. She had argued that Davy needed time to recover from seeing what he had seen, but Davy had been stubborn. He wasn't a child. He needed to be brave.

"Brilliant," Davy forced a smile and entered the house.

"Alright," Heather's tone indicated she didn't entirely believe Davy.

The house was a mess. Everything was out of place, broken, or smashed. The duo grabbed what food they could, stuffing them into bags they both had brought. Then, they made their way into the living room area. Same as the kitchen, it was quite a mess. But in all the chaos, something caught Davy's eye.

He moved over towards the fireplace, where he found two guitar cases propped up against the wall. Mike and Peter's guitars. Those church bastards hadn't taken them or had touched them. They were safe. Although Davy didn't believe much in fate or signs, he did think that somehow this meant that both of his friends were alright.

There wasn't anything to worry about when it came to Micky. That boy would be hard pressed to actually be killed. Thinking that made Davy smile. It really shouldn't have, but it did. It gave him a sense of hope.

"Davy, c'mon," Heather's voice was sharp, cutting through Davy's fleeting moment of peace.

"We have time, Heather," Davy reminded her, "We're safe for now, and we have to wait for the others to come back."

The young girl's brows furrowed together, not in confusion but rather it seemed to Davy frustration. Anger even.

"We need to get our job done," Heather stated before disappearing up the stairs.

Davy glanced at Mike and Peter's guitar cases again. If Micky were here, he could figure out what was going on with Heather. He had a knack with children, or not even children. Just younger folks. But Micky wasn't here. And both Davy and Ronda were growing more worried about Heather as each day passed.

With a sigh passing through him, Davy followed Heather up the stairs. It was more chaotic up here than downstairs. There was broken furniture, broken glass, empty firearms that had been abandoned. His stomach clenched as he entered the room in which Tara would be found. Heather was already inside. She was crouched next to Tara's body, her hand gripping Tara's.

"Heather?" Davy called out, pushing aside his own feelings of discomfort and grief.

Heather's hand slipped from Tara's and she stood up before turning to look at Davy. Tears streaked down her cheeks and once again Davy was struck by how young Heather was. She was just a kid. A kid being forced to grow up before she was supposed to.

"Davy… I… are we all going to die? We… we did everything right but it still got us. Death still got us," Heather's voice cracked.

Davy closed the gap between himself and Heather. He wrapped his arms around her and she clung tightly to him.

"It's going to be okay, Heather," Davy assured her, stroking Heather's hair as he did so.

"But it's not. How can it be? Lyn nearly got Micky killed, now Tara's dead. She's right over there, dead. And we don't know if George will make it. We don't know if the other's are okay. Peter could be dead," all of this came out of Heather in one long, shaky breath.

Davy pulled away from Heather so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Heather, I know-," Davy paused, breathing deeply in order to maintain his composure, "I know it's hard. I know it's scary. But it will be okay. Tara… knew what she had to do in the moment. She died protecting her brother. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. And giving up isn't what she'd want."

Heather sniffled and Davy wiped the tears off her cheeks.

"I told something just like that to Peter. It seems like I did that eighty years ago," a small smile played upon Heather's lips.

"Then listen to yourself, Heather," said Davy, "I… you don't deserve to have to deal with any of this, Heather. You're too young for any of this. But you're strong. And you will get through this."

Heather glanced down at the floor for a moment, then she wrapped Davy into another hug. Davy waited until Heather decided that she'd had enough. Once she had removed herself from his embrace, he said, "Let's move Tara onto the bed. We'll have to bury her soon, but I'm hoping we can wait long enough for the others to regroup."

"That sounds like a good plan," Heather nodded her agreement, pausing for a moment before asking, "Will you be okay?"

Davy felt a little of the queasiness wash over him.

"Yes, no need to worry about me," he assured her, pushing away the sick feeling as best he could.

Both feeling an empty pang of sadness, Davy and Heather moved Tara from the floor to the bed. Her body felt stiff and cold, an odd heaviness that death had added. Davy hoped the others would make their way back here soon. It felt wrong not to bury Tara right away. Although he knew very little about corpses, Davy figured that decomposition would set in soon and with winter ever growing, the longer they waited, the harder it would be to dig Tara a grave.

The thought of cremating Tara came to Davy. They could make it nice and Davy had learnt in school years ago about how ancient warriors used to view that sort of funeral as a good way to send off a respected warrior. Which specific ancient warriors they were, Davy couldn't remember, but he did think that perhaps Tara would like that sort of burial. He made a mental note to talk to Ronda about this. For now, he had to focus on Heather. With their primary job completed, Heather and Davy moved out of the room and went back downstairs.

"Heather, can I ask what's been up with you?" Davy prompted, feeling a little out of his depth.

Yet he did care for Heather, and talking about how you felt was an important step in surviving this whole mess. Davy had learnt this the hard way. Heather looked at the fireplace, staring into the day old ashes. It felt like forever, but Davy knew that only a day or two ago, that fireplace had been home to a warm and comforting fire.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Heather said after a moment, "I… when Peter got infected, I thought it was all my fault. He'd die and I'd be blamed. I made a rookie mistake, a childish mistake, and I didn't want to make the same mistake again."

"I can understand that, but things… they worked out, didn't they?" Davy tried to puzzle out where Heather was coming from.

The discovery of Peter's immunity was only a few months ago, yet without a solid track of time, it felt to Davy as if it had been years ago. Certainly Heather would have recovered from such nasty thoughts about herself in regards to this incident. Right?

"I lucked out, but I knew I needed to be more of an adult about things. Then we came here and Lyn's… Lyn's such a baby. She… she kidnaps Micky thinking her mom's still alive. And when they got back, I knew that there couldn't be two babies in the group. I had to grow up," Heather continued, as if Davy had never interrupted her.

"Heather, you aren't a baby. We all make mistakes," Davy tried to offer the young girl comfort.

"But you can't make mistakes in this sort of world. Lyn made a mistake and almost got Micky killed. I made a mistake and if Peter hadn't been immune, he'd be dead right now," Heather retorted, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice.

"You don't think Mike and Ronda haven't made mistakes before? Myself, Micky, even Isaac?" Davy questioned.

Heather's gaze shot up to Davy's, torn away from the fireplace in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"Mike and Ronda, they might take roles as the leaders of our little family, but they certainly don't know what they're doing, no matter how confident they seem. Micky's one of the most clumsy people I know, even now, he's always dropping something or breaking it," Davy explained, "And I… even when I'm trying to help you, I don't know if what I'm doing is right. We're all playing this by ear, Heather. Trying to survive together."

Davy felt a tremor in his hands. It was only a slight nervousness, but Davy didn't want to make things worse with Heather. Perhaps he could live with her being cold and cynical, but anything worse would be unbearable.

"When will any of this be over? When will those things leave us alone? Stop ruining our lives?" Heather sighed and rubbed her arms with her hands.

Davy approached her, keeping a respectful distance.

"I don't know, Heather. But we'll make do," Davy comforted her.

Heather shut her eyes and she stood holding herself for a stretch of time. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Davy. There was an odd smile on her lips.

"I turned twenty last week," Heather's voice took on a defeated lilt, a bittersweet tone so to speak.

This was news to Davy. It had never occurred to him how important time was. For so long it had been unimportant. How could he have forgotten about birthdays?

"Really?" Davy frowned.

"Yeah," Heather chuckled, "I've never told Ronda or Isaac when my birthday was, so neither of them knew. And I didn't tell anyone else either. I just… never thought anyone would care."

"Of course we care! You should have told us, so we could celebrate," Davy told her.

"It doesn't mean much, I'm a year older is all," Heather shrugged.

"Happy late birthday, Heather," Davy said.

"Thank you," Heather said.

There was a long stretch of silence then. Davy didn't know whether or not to make an issue out of Heather's birthday. Judging on her reaction to her birthday, Davy decided to inform Ronda of this revelation and then go from there. For now, there was another questions that was pestering the Englishman.

"How do you keep track of time?" Davy inquired.

"I have a calendar," Heather replied, "I keep it in my backpack."

"What's the date?" Davy asked, curiously.

"December 15th," Heather informed him.

"Wow, it's already December," Davy could hardly believe it.

He wasn't entirely sure why he could hardly believe it, time did move on, yet he was so used to just living day to day without a thought of dates entering his mind.

"You know," Davy added, "My own birthday is coming up. So's Mike. We were born on the same day, actually."

"Whoa, that's so cool," Heather gasped, this particular piece of information apparently catching her interest, "When is it?"

"The 30th," Davy smiled, although his thoughts were only briefly touching upon what should happen when the 30th came about.

After this split up, and with a burial looming so soon, Davy wondered if a party would lift morale in the group. They could celebrate his and Mike's birthday, Davy moving focus more onto Mike since he seemed to be the one who needed a bit of a party more than Davy did.

"We should celebrate," Heather suggests, as if she had read Davy's mind.

"Maybe we will."

Isaac had found a map in the front office. Now Mike and Micky crowded around the map as well, watching Isaac map out how far they were from the house.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to get back," Micky commented as Isaac finished drawing out a thin line from where they were currently to where the others were.

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "We'll head up and then head down."

Between the three men, they had agreed that the next course of action, after of course regrouping with the others, would be to return to the pad in California. Mike was insistent on this and Micky wondered if Mike wasn't just a tad bit home sick. But then again, Micky did see the reasoning in going back. For one thing, that was home.

Micky figured that at the end of the world, it was better to be in a comfortable, familiar place like your own house. And it was true that the pad seemed to be easier to defend then the house they had stayed in, or even to an extent the cars they used for travel.

"When should we head out?" Isaac asked.

"Soon," Mike replied.

"We can leave in thirty minutes, how about that?" Micky suggested, "That'd give us enough time to scout this place out, make sure we aren't missing any other supplies."

"That sounds good. And it will also give Lyn more time to sleep," Isaac agreed.

"Alright," Micky nodded, "Mike and I will make another round of the motel, you stay here with Lyn."

Isaac folded up the map, stowing it away in his bag. He then moved over to sit in the chair that faced the bed Lyn was sleeping in. With most of their stuff still in the Monkeemobile, Mike and Micky exited the motel room. They started at the last room, breaking the door open to see what was inside. Most of the rooms had little to offer.

Micky was able to find a couple of wrenches and hammers and pliers in a closet in one of the rooms. It must have been used as a supply closet of sorts. Mike picked up the few toiletries that were in the bathrooms, such as the little packaged bars of soap and leftover shampoo bottles that were abandoned. They went from room to room until they reached the front desk. There wasn't anything in the front desk though. It seemed that most of the supplies were already gone.

"I hope that there are still supplies back at the house," Mike commented, picking up the phone that was on the front desk's counter.

There wasn't even a dial tone. Mike put the phone back onto its cradle.

"I'm sure there will be stuff left," Micky assured him.

"We'll pack up and go home," Mike continued.

Mike felt Micky's eyes on him. It made him feel uncomfortable, but he was too tired to truly care. He glanced over to see what Micky was doing. The drummer was crouched down and was rummaging through a cabinet.

"I can't wait to go home," Mike commented.

"Don't sweat it, babe, we'll be home soon," Micky turned over his shoulder to give Mike a warm smile.

Mike smiled back, but he wasn't feeling a sort of emotion that would pair well with a smile. He wondered what would happen when they got home? What did Mike expect? That at home, everything would be better? The infected would cease to exist? Ever since Micky and Davy brought back Isaac, Ronda, and Heather, things had been changed. Some for the better and some for the worst. Mike couldn't take any of that back. None of them could.

**Author's Note: **

Thank you for reading! I hope to get this fic wrapped up by Jan. 25th, 2016. This probably doesn't mean anything to you guys reading, but I just thought I'd throw that info out there. Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter.

Also, to answer dolphinrain's question: I'm not really sure. From a Western perspective, since I'm American, I've seen it as a sort of trope in the horror genre. I think it's because Christianity is the main religion in America, therefore it's easy, I suppose, to make Christians the "nut jobs". I don't think this is a statement and I personally did not use the trope as a statement. I took creative license with the rapture and worked it into my story because when I was planning the fic I thought that'd make some good conflict. In no way was that supposed to be a statement, there are a lot of good Christians out there. :)

Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic! It's reached 1,000+ hits and I've never been happier. I appreciate every comment, question, critique, and hit that I receive and I owe it all to you guys, the readers. I hope this chapter was enjoyable &amp; please look forward to more soon. Feel free to leave a review! :) Have a wonderful day!


	17. Chapter 17

It took very little time for Peter and his newfound "friends" to get onto the road. Breakfast was a mere granola bar for each of them. That worked for Peter. He wasn't feeling all that hungry. Now they were outside. There was snow on the ground, but it wasn't too cold outside today. Bunny lead the group, taking the initiative to head to Munro Street. Peter hoped that they'd reach their destination soon. Bunny had told him that it wouldn't be too long of a journey.

"Gee man, wonder if Christmas is soon," Kitty commented as they trudged through the almost ankle high snow.

Lawrence tapped on Bunny's shoulder. Bunny signed something to him. Lawrence moved his hands, signing something to Kitty. Whatever it was, it made Kitty laugh.

"Course I know that," Kitty replied.

Peter wondered what Lawrence had said.

"Lawrence celebrates Hannukah," Bunny explained.

"Oh," said Peter.

Lawrence signed something else. Peter wished he knew how to sign.

"We used to live around here, all three of us. We were friends," Kitty pointed out, almost randomly.

"Lawrence thought we might as well get to know each other," Bunny added, explaining the random factoids origin.

Lawrence flashed Peter a very friendly grin. It made Peter feel a bit more safe, and so he smiled back.

"My friends are back at the house, we've been traveling together," Peter informed them.

"I bet they're great people," said Bunny.

"They are," Peter confirmed, "As are you guys. I owe you my life."

"Don't sweat it, babe," Kitty grinned broadly, stumbling a little in the snow.

"Be careful, Kitty," Bunny scolded, "We can't have you getting hurt or something."

Lawrence took a hold of Kitty's hand, as if that would insure he would not stumble again. They lulled into a silence then, traveling for about fifteen minutes until Peter noticed a clean track of footprints leading into a cluster of pines not far away. He tapped Bunny on the shoulder and pointed to them.

Bunny gave Lawrence a look and then crept forward to inspect them. Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing around to see if he could see anyone. Then he spotted her. A young woman, blonde hair tied back. She had a gun holstered to her hip and her eyes went wide when she spotted Peter and his little group.

"I won't call them," she called out as she approached the little group.

Bunny, Kitty, and Lawrence glanced at Peter. Somehow they must have sensed that this was between him and the woman. Peter rubbed his hand against his pant leg.

"You're with the church?" Peter frowned.

"Yes," the woman nodded, "But I… I don't believe this is the rapture. As horrible as it is."

"Oh," Peter was unsure of what to say.

"I won't tell them I saw you. They won't bother you again," the woman added.

For a moment she and Peter merely stared at each other. Two people, each trying to survive as best they could in an unforgiving world.

"Thank you," Peter said eventually.

"God be with you," the woman replied, before walking off towards the cluster of pine trees.

Peter watched her go and wondered what her story was. Did she have family? Children? Friends? What had she been before all of this? A doctor? A teacher? Peter's thoughts were broken by Kitty bursting into laughter. He doubled over and fell down into the snow.

"Cut it out, man," Bunny snapped as Lawrence pulled Kitty onto his feet.

"Cut what out?" Kitty protested.

Lawrence's brow was furrowed, contorting his face into an expression of annoyance. He signed something at Kitty, who rolled his eyes in response.

"We should keep moving," Peter said, hands fiddling with each other and the pack on his back suddenly felt a bit heavier.

Although he did have faith that the woman would not give away his position, Peter knew it was better to get out of the area rather than risk a chance encounter.

"That's a good idea. It's harder to see infected when it gets darker," Bunny agreed.

They resumed their journey. Peter hoped that the others were back at the house by the time he arrived. Would they leave without him? Peter was doubtful but there was a singular thought that kept bothering him. Would it be better for his friends to leave him behind? So far, he had only caused them trouble. It was his fault that they were attacked. If George ended up dead, that would be his fault too.

A heavy feeling settled in his stomach and in his forearms. It felt as if he were carrying this heavy shroud that weighed down on those two areas. Peter rubbed his thumb against his index finger, pushing that thought out of his head as best he could. If only Micky or Davy were here. They'd know what to do.

Lyn sat with Mike in the backseat. The young girl had sidled up to Mike's side. He had his arm wrapped around her so that she could lean her head against the side of his chest. In the front, Micky and Isaac were quiet. Mike wondered what they were thinking. A part of him felt like he had failed his friends. He had reached his breaking point and under the pressure, his will to lead had caved in.

"Hey, Mike?" Lyn spoke up.

The Texan felt his heartbeat speed up and his body tensed. Why, he wasn't sure.

"Yeah?" Mike said.

"Wanna hear about my dream?" Lyn inquired.

"Sure, babe," Mike felt himself relax.

What had he anticipated Lyn to ask?

"I dreamt that there was this, like, really pretty house. Not my house, but as big as mine. And you and Davy and Heather were there, and we were eating breakfast. It was pancakes and bacon. Mom used to make that for me all the time. When she was alive," Lyn began.

Mike felt Lyn's hand grab onto his, intertwining their fingers.

"Anyways, after we finished eating, Davy cleaned up. And then you and me and Heather, we went outside and there was this big lake. We went swimming and there were really pretty clouds in the sky," Lyn continued.

Mike waited for her to say more, but she didn't. Mike gently squeezed Lyn's hand.

"That sounds like it was a mighty fine dream, Lyn," Mike commented.

"Yeah, it was," Mike could hear the smile in Lyn's voice.

Mike glanced out of the window. A couple of feet away he spotted an infected. It was gazing upwards at a tree, arms limp at it's sides. Mike squeezed Lyn's hand again. Micky could take over leading for a bit, that was fine by Mike, but he wouldn't stop keeping an eye out for those he loved. He wouldn't let anything hurt his family.

Heather sat outside on the porch, her feet kicking the snow beneath. Davy sat next to her, coat wrapped tightly around him in order to keep him warm. After they had finished their business in the house, they had decided to wait until sunset before heading back to Ronda and George. Already they had waited for a few hours. Davy guessed that in another three or four, they'd have to head back.

"I think the infected are dying off," Heather commented.

Davy glanced at her, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Hmm?"

"I think the infected are dying off," Heather repeated, her eyes focused on her feet.

"What makes you say that?" Davy queried.

"Well, last March, when the infection first was going around, the creatures were everywhere," Heather explained, "You couldn't step two feet without attracting one of the damn things."

Davy felt an odd guilt stir in his chest. Nearly from the start of the infection, him and his friends had holed themselves up. It had worked, yet he wondered briefly if that made him and his friends cowards.

"But as the year went on, Ronda and Isaac and I stopped having to deal with the infected. Now, we hardly have to deal with. I mean. It's not like it was in the beginning. So where are they all going?" Heather finished.

It did make sense to Davy. Heather did have a point. It was very unusual for them to encounter a lot of infected in one area, or any infected at all.

"You've got a point," Davy agreed.

"Though you could argue that since there aren't enough people around to get them all excited and ragey, with nothing for them to infect, they just sort of laze around in one spot," Heather added, almost as an afterthought.

"We're going to be okay, Heather," Davy reached out and placed his hand upon Heather's shoulder.

"The world's ending, Davy, if it hasn't already. I'm not sure things can be okay. The world will never go back to how it was," Heather sighed.

"You've gotta have hope," Davy pointed out.

Heather reached her hand up to touch Davy's. She didn't say anything, but Davy understood that she was trying. He knew it must be hard. It was hard for all of them. His thoughts wandered to George then. It was going to be hard to tell George about Tara. It was going to be hard to see him grieve. It was going to be hard to bury Tara.

"Davy, there's something coming. A car. Do you hear it?" Heather broke Davy's train of thought.

Davy listened and sure enough he could hear a car coming up the road. He stood and Heather did the same.

"Let's hide in the house, peek out the front window, in case it's someone who means us harm," Davy suggested.

"Okay, sounds good," Heather nodded.

The duo retreated back into the house, shutting the front door and peeking out over the edge of the vertical, rectangular windows that were on either side of the door. Davy was torn with hope and dread. He held his breath for the minute it took the Monkeemobile to pull into the driveway and come into view.

"It's the others," Davy exclaimed, although his words were lost to Heather.

She opened the door as Davy was speaking, bolting out of the house and towards the car. The doors to the car opened and Isaac stepped out of the driver's side just in time to be barreled into by Heather. Isaac wrapped his arms around Heather and almost out of nowhere, Lyn appeared out of the car. She went right over to Heather, excited to see her cousin alive and well. Davy was relieved to see Lyn and Isaac safe but his true joy came from the sight of Mike and Micky coming towards him.

"I'm so glad you two are okay," the Englishman exclaimed, meeting his friends halfway.

Almost immediately, Davy found himself in Mike's arm. Mike squeezed him, nearly knocking the wind out of the smaller man. In a moment, Mike released Davy and, although a touching moment, Davy wondered if Mike was alright. He made eye contact with Micky and without a word both men knew they needed a brief private council. Before Davy could figure out a decent excuse to talk to Micky alone, Heather called Mike over. Mike glanced over at her and then turned back to Davy.

"Go on," Davy grinned, tilting his head in indication that Mike should go say hello.

Mike nodded and then went over to where Isaac, Lyn, and Heather were. It was only a foot or so, but it was as good as Davy was gonna get. He stepped closer to Micky.

"Are the others okay?" Micky asked.

Davy felt his heart speed up. He needed to just stay calm.

"No. Sort of," Davy admitted, "I… Tara's dead, she died protecting George. But George got hurt pretty badly. He's healing though. I think he'll make it. Thank god Isaac's here. But… Ronda, Heather, and I, we were carrying George and trying to run away from the guys. And he was… in bad shape, he needed help then but we couldn't stop, so Peter decided to lead them off. Lead them away from us."

"But he's okay?" Micky frowned.

"He hasn't come back yet," Davy replied.

Davy saw Micky's body tense. The drummer shut his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"We'll have to break that to him gently. Mike won't like that. He'll be worried out of his mind," Micky finally said as he opened his eyes.

"What happened?" Davy asked, "Why's Mike all… quiet, I guess is the best word?"

Micky glanced over towards Mike. Davy waited for his answer, wondering if he truly wanted to know.

"Mike's alright, man. I mean, I think he is at any rate," Micky chewed on his bottom lip, "But he killed two guys in order to protect Lyn. Think that got to him a little."

Davy felt his stomach leaden and his arms felt a little chilled. He knew how Mike might feel right now, but only by the tiniest comparison.

"That's heavy," Davy mumbled.

"Yeah, but he'll be okay. I mean, he's Mike after all," shrugged Micky, although Davy got the impression that Micky didn't believe everything he was saying.

"Sure, mate, I'm positive Mike'll be fine. We're all gonna be fine," Davy reassured Micky.

Micky smiled appreciatively at Davy before saying, "We'd better let Isaac know about what's up."

"Yeah, he should head back with Heather as soon as he knows because I'm sure Ronda would like to know about you guy's coming back and would love for Isaac to check out George," Davy agreed.

Micky called Isaac over. He left Mike with Lyn and Heather, quickly coming over to see if something was the matter. Davy informed Isaac of what had happened since they had been split up. Davy watched the older man grew teary eyed and instinctively hugged Isaac when he began to cry. The moment was brief, since Isaac agreed that knews of Tara's death would have to be broken lightly to both Lyn and Mike. And it was also agreed upon that Peter's absence was to be kept quiet until that evening.

"I have hope he'll be round before dinner," Davy admitted, feeling a bit foolish.

Yet, Micky, Mike, Isaac, and Lyn were now back with the group. So who was to say Peter wasn't just around the corner?

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Isaac offered Davy a small smile, "For now, let us say that Peter went out to look for us, if anyone asks. That will buy us some time, and isn't far from the truth."

"Sounds good," Davy agreed.

"Are you sure we should lie to Lyn and Mike? I mean… I dunno, guys, I mean I get it, but it just doesn't feel right. They should know what's going on," Micky piped up, scuffing his shoes in the dirt a little.

"Mike'll freak out, Mick, if we tell him Peter ran off being chased by people who want to kill him," Davy pointed out.

"I know… I just feel bad, is all. I don't think it's right to keep secrets from each other," Micky felt uncomfortable.

Davy could tell that Micky really didn't want to lie to Mike, and Davy guessed that was his main hang up. Lying to Mike. But it was what had to be done. To spare Mike pain. Or worry. Maybe both. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Davy thought so and Isaac agreed.

"We'll tell him once Peter's back with us, safe and everything. Okay, man?" Davy said, trying to reassure Micky that this was the right thing to do.

"Okay, sure," Micky nodded his head.

"Good," said Isaac, "Davy, I think you should be the one to tell them about Tara and about going back to this other house."

Davy took a deep breath. Of course he had to be the one to do it, but he didn't want to. Who else could have done it? Heather could have, but Davy wouldn't put her through that. It was up to him. He, Micky, and Isaac wandered closer to the little circle that Mike, Lyn, and Heather were forming.

"I'm glad we're all back together," Davy started, and it felt weird.

It felt odd to address this many people, as if he were the leader or something. It felt like he was about to launch into some sort of speech. He certainly wasn't about to launch into anything close to a speech. Speeches were feel good, moral boosting.

"Ahem" Davy cleared his throat, "Sorry, um, okay. Well, certainly some things have happened since we last were together and I… When we were attacked, George and Tara got cornered and Tara had to protect her little brother. And so… she got shot. And died. Tara's dead. But George was only injured. And now that Isaac's here, George will be completely better in no time."

Davy wanted to be sick again. He was always feeling sick. His legs felt weak and his arms were like cooked spaghetti, or at least that's how if felt to Davy. As he spoke, Lyn had started to cry and Heather took the younger girl into her arms. Even Isaac had tears in his eyes again. Mike stood motionless and Davy thought Micky looked much older than he was.

It didn't occur to him how well he and Ronda and Heather had taken Tara's death. Or maybe Davy was thinking this only because it had just been the three of them and now there were four others, one of them barely a teenager.

"We'll have to bury her," Mike stated.

"We will, but not today," Heather informed him.

Davy's palms began to sweat. He knew what would come next. Mike, or Lyn, would ask why and Heather would tell them that Peter isn't back yet. That would lead to Mike, or Lyn, asking where Peter was. And then Heather would let the cat out of the bag.

"It is quite late," Lyn sniffled, "I think it'd be prettier in the daytime anyway."

"Isaac, you, Lyn, and I should head back to the other house. Ronda will want to say hello and also want some help with George, or a second opinion... or whatever," Heather shrugged.

"Shouldn't we all head back?" Lyn frowned.

"Peter isn't back yet," Heather replied, "Someone has to wait for him."

"Where's Peter?" Davy could hear the slight panic in his voice.

"He went out looking for you guys. Along the road. You must have missed him," Davy immediately blurted, "It… he can't get infected so he thought it best if he went alone to just see if he could see you along the road. He'll be back soon."

Davy could feel Micky's eyes on him.

"Oh…," Mike's body relaxed and he reached up to adjust his wool hat, "Then we'll wait for him. Y'all go on ahead."

The Texan smiled at Lyn and gave her a quick side hug.

"Come on, Lyn, they'll be right behind us," Heather said, taking Lyn's hand.

A few minutes later, it was just Micky, Mike, and Davy. Micky pulled the Monkeemobile into the garage so that it would be in a relatively secure area. Then the trio went and sat on the porch.

"How've ya been, Davy?" Mike asked as soon as they had settled.

"I don't sleep much," Davy admitted.

"Neither does Mike," Micky added.

"I sleep," Mike protested.

"Not enough," countered Micky.

"That'll change. Just once we're all safe back at the pad," Mike sounded almost like a child to Davy.

"We'll have to head back as soon as the weather clears. Are the roads bad?" Davy asked.

"Unless we get another foot of snow around here, we should be able to drive through it," Micky answered, "And even then, if we find a mechanics shop, I probably could rig up the Monkeemobile so she could drive in the snow a bit better."

"She's held up nicely, our little car," Davy agreed.

There was a lull in the conversation then. A minute passes. Then two.

"Did you see Tara die, Davy?" Mike spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Davy replied, "I… couldn't do anything to help her. There wasn't anything anyone could have done."

"You did the best you could. I mean, you saved George. That's all Tara ever wanted," Micky pointed out.

"George doesn't know yet," Mike stated.

It wasn't even a question, Davy knew that.

"No, he doesn't know yet. He needs to heal. He got hurt pretty badly," Davy said.

"We've come a long way, haven't we?" Micky's rhetorical question seemed odd to Davy.

"What'd ya mean, Mick?" he asked.

"I mean, look at us. Just a year ago, we were struggling for work, living off of our meager earnings from gigs. We chased girls and had fun. Now we're here. One of us dead. Another injured. We've been through so much," Micky shrugged, wishing not for the first time that he had a drink in his hand.

A beer or something. Davy watched the drummer lean back against the side of the house. They were sat cross legged on the porch, backs against the side of the house.

"We ain't changed," Mike countered, "It's the world that's changed."

Micky made a grunting noise. Davy was unsure whether it meant he agreed or disagreed.

"Heather thinks the infected are dying off or something," Davy informed them.

"Bull," Mike spat, "This thing ain't ever gonna die out."

"I dunno, mate. She says it's been a few months since she's last seen a large number of infected," Davy shrugged, "She keeps a calendar. Our birthday's coming up, Mike."

"We should celebrate!" Micky exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.

Davy smiled at that. He'd missed Micky's spontaneous enthusiasm. Even in such hard times, Micky always found some way to goof off or be funny.

"I was thinking the same thing," Davy grinned.

Peter had learned much about Lawrence, Kitty, and Bunny. Lawrence had been born deaf and had struggled in school. But he had managed to make it through and had been attending college to become a teacher. Lawrence, Kitty, and Bunny had all been childhood friends. Kitty was a mechanic and Bunny worked as a waitress. None of them had spouses or children. In return, Peter told them about himself and his friends. About the Monkees and California and gigs. Talking about his friends and the pad made him feel rather homesick.

Now they were almost at the house. Peter knew because they were following the road that lead to the house. He'd walked this same road with his friends before, on patrols or just a looksee at other houses to see if they had any supplies left in them. It was getting dark and the foursome were moving quite quickly, on no one else's insistence but Peter's own. If anyone was waiting for him, they'd only still till sundown.

They might have even left already.

The house came into view and Peter squinted a little. Davy, Mike, and Micky were sitting on the porch. It was almost as if Peter were dreaming. He motioned for Bunny, Kitty, and Lawrence to stay behind him. Then, Peter and his new found friends moved into view. Before Peter could say even a greeting, his three friends were on their feet and bolting towards him. Then they stopped and Peter knew they were already ready to act in the name of protection.

"These guys are with me, they saved me," Peter informed his three friends as they approached.

Mike narrowed his eyes, but the gaze wasn't directed towards Peter. Rather instead it was directed towards Davy.

"Saved you?" Mike repeated, "Thought you said Pete was out looking for us, Davy."

"If you had known I let him run off, it'd just…," Davy shrugged.

"Let him run off?" Mike repeated.

"George was bleeding out. I needed to give them time to help him," Peter piped up, "So I lead the bad guys away. I gave them time."

Peter saw Mike's jaw clench. What had happened? Peter found himself very confused. Davy looked so tired, Mike looked sad, and Micky looked anxious. What had happened to his friends?

"Is George alright?" Peter asked after a moment.

Despite his gnawing questions about his friends, Peter did need to know that George had made it. Davy seemed relieved that Peter had brought up the subject.

"George is fine. With Isaac here, I'm sure he'll be back on his feet in no time," Davy offered Peter a small smile.

Peter let out a long sigh. He felt so relieved to know that George had made it. It almost made him want to cry from relief.

"I'm so glad," Peter said and then reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, "Well, um, anyways guys, this is Kitty and Bunny and Lawrence. They helped me out of a bind."

"Hello," Bunny waved, "Um, yeah, well it wasn't much. We patched Peter up, after a bullet grazed his shoulder. He really would have been fine, even without us."

Peter watched Mike close his eyes. His nostrils flared and then he turned his back to Peter, walking towards the house. Peter's brows knitted together into a frown.

"Thank you for helping our friend. I'm Davy, this is Micky, and that's Mike," Davy greeted.

"We should go back to the new place," Mike called over his shoulder, "It'll be dark soon."

Davy nodded. There was an odd silence then as Davy took charge and started leading everyone towards the new house, the temporary one. Eventually, Davy started talking with Bunny, Kitty, and Lawrence, who were up front with him as he lead the way. Mike walked by himself in the middle, since Micky and Peter were bringing up the rear.

"What happened? Why did Mike get upset?" Peter asked, his voice kept low enough so that Mike wouldn't overhear.

"Davy told us you just went out looking for us. Not that you put yourself in danger," Micky explained, "But Mike's just dealing with stuff. He's not really upset with Davy or you or anyone."

"Is he okay?" Peter wondered.

"He's just dealing with stuff," Micky shrugged.

"What stuff?" Peter pressed.

"He… killed two guys to keep Lyn safe," Micky replied, hesitating for a moment, "That kinda stuff."

Peter felt his stomach drop a little. Tara had died because of had been his fault. And now Mike's actions were Peter's fault as well. The bad guys had followed him, it had all been about him. Without him, his friends would be okay. Mike wouldn't have had to kill anyone. It was all his fault.

"I know how he feels," Peter mumbled.

"What?" Micky asked, a bit too sharply for Peter's liking.

Peter felt his skin prickle. Was Micky upset with him? Micky already seemed worried about Mike and probably Davy too. The last thing Micky needed was to have to worry about Peter on top of that.

"I just… I can imagine how Mike's feeling right now, that's all," Peter shrugged, not wanting to make things worse for Micky.

"We can all, I guess," said Micky.

Peter couldn't read his facial expression. Peter didn't know what Micky was thinking. This made Peter feel uncomfortable. He always could tell what his friends were thinking. Micky glanced at him.

"Just, stay strong, okay, Pete," Micky continued, "I mean, I already got Mike falling to bits on me and who knows what's gonna be up with Davy. Wanting to lie to Mike, I just… we'll all get through this but. I just feel like things are gonna get weird because we're all trying to deal with death."

Peter thought that his socks were too wet for a conversation like this. He wondered if he could get warm socks. Warm his feet up. He missed the pad. It was all his fault, that's all he could keep thinking. They continued to walk in the snow, the sun setting down and casting the group in a slowly darkening light.

"I'll try, Micky," Peter promised after a moment, "I'll try."

Author's Note: Hey guys! Thank you for reading yet another chapter of this fic! I really hope you enjoyed it and feel free to leave a comment on your thoughts. I'm hoping to put up another chapter soon because I'm on a short holiday break which means that I'll have some spare time to write. No promises, but I am hopeful. Thank you to everyone who's read this so far and has left a comment. Every one of you means so much to me. A quick update on the progress, just for those of you wondering, this fic is in it's final stages. We're on the home stretch! But that doesn't mean I don't have a few surprises planned. Please stay tuned for more and have a wonderful day!


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